


Every Kingdom

by nothinbuttherain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/M, Friendship, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothinbuttherain/pseuds/nothinbuttherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set following the season 1 finale and centred around Abby and Kane as they try to deal with the new threats to their survival posed by the political struggle with Earth's existing inhabitants as well as the strains of leading the new society they've brought down with them from space and the constant tension that inexorably draws them to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Savour

** Chapter 1 **

Savour

It’s a lot to take in, Earth.

She’s spent her entire life surrounded by the harsh, artificial lights of the Ark and the darkness of space. The soft light of the sun plays across the flat, smooth surface of the still lake behind them. And it’s warm. Space was cold. A horrible, hollow cold that’s chilled her bones her entire life.

She’d only really noticed it before in Jake’s arms. The kind of warmth that seeps through the skin and deep into her body coming from his embrace. But that surrounds her entirely now. It’s comforting in a way. And the air. The air is soft and sweet and fresh and fills her lungs after so long on a dying space station that was slowly running out of oxygen.

She closes her eyes for a moment and let’s herself think of her husband and how much he would have loved this place but pulls herself back as a different kind of heat sparks through her from her lower back, spreading through her spine to the rest of her.

She glances round and finds Kane’s hand brushing against her body, getting her attention. He seems just as awed and overwhelmed by this as she does. A soft smile touches her lips.

He always appeared so stoic and reserved in public. But she knew better. She knew him. His eyes were bright again, a fire in their depths once more. When he turned to her, she was sure that it was mirrored in her.

He cleared his throat, drawing himself up and began in a business-like tone. “We have work to do.”

She sighed. “Marcus.” She murmured quietly, laying a gentle hand on her arm, “Savour the moment.” She said quietly, a quiet, almost cautious smile slowly spreading across her face as she breathed, “We made it.”

“We made it.” He repeated faintly, letting himself soften for a moment before adding crisply, “And now we have to keep on making it.”

Her smile broadened and she shook her head. Some things never changed.

“Is anyone injured below?” He asked her.

“I don’t think so. But adrenaline can hide a lot. We should go and check on them then get everyone up and out here.”

He nods in agreement and offers her a hand to steady her as she slips into the hatch and calls for attention. A sea of faces turns to look at her and she feels a shiver of excitement prickle along her spine.

She can’t stop herself from smiling as she tells the restless crowd what she told him a few minutes before, “We made it.” A murmur ripples through her audience at this, “We’re here. We’re on the ground.” She lets that sink in for a moment and then takes charge.

She has everyone wait, stops them from leaving as she moves between them, treating the wounded. She finds orders spring easily from her, a fact that’s not lost on Marcus either who descends to support her as she begins to move through the group.

“It suits you.” He informs her quietly, taking over, finishing up bandaging a wound she’s just stitched to allow her to move on.

She shrugs, “I’m a surgeon. When I ask for something in my OR, I get it.” She says and it feels like she’s explaining her own surprise at this as well.

“Oh is that all?” He muses, a smile tugging faintly at his lips.

“What?” She demands, looking up from her newest patient for a moment to catch the amusement in his eyes.

“You’re Abby Griffin.” He tells her simply, “Surgery or not, when you ask for something, you expect to get it.” She opens her mouth to reply but he’s already turned and moved on.

Though there was a faint strain of something akin to pride in his voice so perhaps he meant it as a compliment. She pushes it from her thoughts and returns her attention back to the pale young woman before her quietly reassuring her that her wrist isn’t broken; only sprained.

She stands and cleans off her hands, scanning the crowd for more injuries but they’ve been relatively lucky. Cuts, bruises, a few broken bones. But things have been taken care of.

Her attention returns to Marcus instead and watches the way the people interact with him. His people, now, she soon realises. Many reach out to him and offer quiet words of thanks and support.

He has the bearing of a leader and these people at least intend to follow him. So does she.

He seems taken aback at first, before gratitude sweeps in. She joins him again as he makes his way back to the hatch and meets her en route, still looking a little bemused by the reaction.

“You were willing to die for them today, Marcus.” She reminds him softly. “That’s not something anyone here will forget.” She knows she certainly won’t.

He nods, processing this and its implications before he turns and wordlessly climbs the ladder once more. She begins organising the people left in the station, feeding them up the ladders one by one, trusting Marcus to co-ordinate things from there.

Things run smoothly. People are used to order. To doing as they’re told. She glances around the now empty station before looking up and ascending the ladders gain, breathing the sweet, fresh air deep into her lungs once more, wondering if she’ll ever get tired of it. She feels Marcus’ hand wrap tightly around her forearm and pull her out.

She nods gratefully to him as he ends up taking most of her weight when she slips, not having realised how tired she was until now. He turns to her and eases the med kit from her hands, brushing her hair back gently and examining the wound on her forehead, his hands surprisingly deft and delicate.

“It’s fine.” She begins, trying to brush him off.

His eyes flick up to meet hers in an unspoken warning not to challenge him on this, “I can’t have our doctor dropping on us because no-one thought to take care of her.” He informs her quietly, his eyes meeting hers for a moment and keeping her in place as he cleans out the cut.

She decides to easiest thing to do is just to let him get on with it so she ends up talking him through adding a few stitches to hold it, thinking that it’s a useful skill to have down here and he may as well practice on her.

Once he’s satisfied he takes a step back, withdrawing from her and giving her her space again, his eyes moving over the people on the ground below them.

“We need to decide how this is going to work now.” He begins evenly, his arms folded across his chest, looking down keenly at her as though he knew what she was going to say and had already thought of a reply.

They had developed a subtle way of communicating and playing games with each other from opposite sides of a council table over the years. She decided not to disappoint him. And was curious to know if he was on the same page as her as she couldn’t’ see how he would find a way to argue with her on this. Though he never failed on that front.

“You are still the vice chancellor.” She told him simply, “Jaha isn’t in a position to lead us anymore. By law that makes you chancellor.”

“The same laws you once broke to prevent me from becoming chancellor?” He teased, eyebrows raised slightly, his eyes dancing. She closed her eyes, grimacing and letting a dry laugh bubble through her, giving him this as he went on, “What was it you called it again? The easiest decision you’ve ever made?”

“Alright, alright. I get the point.” She told him, still grinning as he squinted at her out of the corner of eye.

She glared at him, resisting the urge to shove him off the top of the station they were surveying their people from in-case he attempted to find an airlock to march her out of. Though she doubted that he would.

She took a deep breath and followed his gaze as he shifted it across the lake before she said quietly, “A lot’s changed.” And it had. Everything had changed recently. And she was still trying to catch up to how she felt about everything. “We’ve changed.” She adds. She pauses a moment, letting that sink in before she says firmly, “I trust you, Marcus.”

He glances down at her, meeting her eyes, then nods, “Then my first move as chancellor is to make it a joint position.”

She stared at him, wondering for a moment if she had misheard or misunderstood him. But he continued to watch her with quiet expectation and eventually she blurted, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He told her, firmly.

“You risk weakening your position; dividing power before you even start, it could-“

“Yes, Abby.” He interrupted firmly, “I’m sure.”

“People respect you, Marcus.” She told him firmly, “They listen to you.” She said.

“They like you.” He remarked, smirking.

She nudged him lightly in the ribs.

“I’m still the monster that murdered their loved ones in the cull, remember?” He told her, sobering up a little, his voice strained, his body tensed, despite his attempt at making the words sounds casual and matter-of-fact. “You’re a doctor. They respect you too.” He said, “They trust you.” He went on, adding, “ _I_ trust you, Abby. I want you with me on this. I need your help.”

She nodded, slipping her hand over his and giving it a gentle squeeze, “You have it.”

He nodded back to her in return, “Good.” He growled flatly.

It was quiet a moment then, “What are you thinking?” She asked him quietly.

He glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly at her. She shrugs and says evenly, “You have that look.”

He considers this for a moment with a smile ghosting across his lips then takes a deep breath and explains slowly, “The lake here is likely fed by various rivers and streams. Fresh running water.”

She nodded, understanding what he wanted then said quietly, “Why don’t we stay here? At the lake? The station provides us with more protection than anything else will.”

“May be.” He agreed, meeting her eyes again, “But the ground here is too flat, too open. Good for a landing. But it’s a bad place to set up a safe camp.” He explains, “The station’s a loss, but we can’t live in it. It’s too small. If we’re attacked it’ll be from three sides.” He tells her, gently turning her round to follow his gaze and show her what she means, “And we’ll be pinned against the lake at our back. It’s a blessing and a curse.” He tells her, “But the negatives of staying here outweigh the benefits.”

 “The negatives of staying here depend on us being attacked, which we might not be.” She tells him, shaking her head, “You don’t have to plan out everything as a soldier, Marcus.”

“I do when there’s a good chance we’ve been dropped into the middle of a war, Abby.” He tells her firmly, “We know there are people down here besides us. And we know that they weren’t on good terms with the 100. They’re unlikely to trust us.”

“We can try.” She tells him, flatly “If we don’t arm this camp like a military base we’ll have a much better of chance of convincing them that we want peace.”

“I don’t want to arm us like a military camp.” He tells her irritably, “I just want to make sure we can defend ourselves if we have to.”

They glare at each other, both breathing a little harder than before and she takes a deep breath, almost laughing at how familiar this all felt. She drags her fingers through her hair, deciding that he’s right. She takes a deep breath,

“Okay.” She says, “So where do you want us to go?”

“Higher ground.” He tells her simply, pointing towards the tree line ahead of them, “The trees will provide us with more shelter from the elements and anyone else that’s out there.” He tells her, “If we can find a source of running water, chances are it’ll be clean, good to drink, which is a start.”

“Okay.” She says again, nodding in agreement, considering their options now.

“Abby,” he murmurs, lightly catching her arm. She turns to him and he says softly, “I think that before we go chasing smoke through the forest we should have something established to come back to.”

He knows. He knows that that was exactly what she had in mind. And she almost hates him for it.

He’s still watching her, waiting for a response, his arms defensively crossing over his chest, no doubt bracing for another argument, “Let’s have it.” He presses grimly, his face set.

“What?” She demands, a little too defensively to be indignant.

“You have that look.” He informs her flatly, echoing her. She widens her eyes innocently at him. “That means you disagree with me.” He tells her with a heavy sigh, “And I spend the next few hours arguing with you and getting nowhere.”

“That’s a very specific look.” She tells him, narrowing her eyes at him.

He doesn’t answer, he just smiles knowingly at her and she’s tempted to shove him off of the station again.

“Yes.” She says finally, irritated at being backed into revealing her position, even if they both know what it is without her formally announcing it, “I disagree.” He turns to face her, letting her make her case, “There could be people trapped on that station. They might not make it until you get your camp set-up. We should go and see what we can do to help.”

He shakes his head and says ruefully, “By the time we reach them it’ll be dark; if it really is another one of the stations.” She turned to look up at him again, “Smoke means people.” He says, “But it doesn’t necessarily mean our people.”

She closes her eyes, thinking, trying to process everything, “I just...I feel like I’m abandoning them.” She says finally.

“I know.” He murmurs softly, “But there’s nothing we can do for them in the dark, Abby. Especially if we have nowhere safe to bring them.”

She curses faintly under her breath, massaging her temples. He’s right. And she knows he’s right. But that doesn’t stop her from being disgusted with herself. If those people died...But he’s right. If they’re not careful they could lose everyone in their station as well. They need to make camp and establish themselves before they worry about anyone else.

She just hates admitting that. It feels like she’s failed somehow.

“We’ll leave at first light.” He promises quietly, as though reading her mind, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

She nods stiffly and says, “Well if we’re going let’s go.”

He nods and lowers himself down to the ground, reaching up and placing his hands securely on her waist and lifts her easily and settles her beside him.

They move among their people side-by-side. They seem to sense that something’s happening and begin to slowly gather around them. Waiting for the decision. For their orders.

Marcus stops and lightly brushes her hand with his fingers and encourages her to do the same. She freezes beside him and together they stand and wait as the little group clusters around them, closing in on all sides.

He waits until the people around them settle then takes a deep breath and begin, “We made it to Earth. We survived. Against all odds we survived. And I-“ He breaks off for a moment, glancing down at her shifting closer to her before he corrects, “And we intend to make sure that we continue to survive. It will be hard. And we will be tested. But we always have been. And it’s never been easy. But we’ve all made it this far. And there’s no reason we won’t make it further. Pack up. We leave in ten.”

She expects some protest. Some demand for more details and more information but there are none. Their people are exhausted. Worn down by death and disaster and seemingly interminable set-backs. They are here. They are alive. And none of them wants the weight of keeping them that way on their shoulders.

And so they follow. And they follow quietly and without complaint. For now. The unrest would come. The questions. The demands. The accusations. The challenges. But for now. For now the beast of public opinion is content. And she intends to keep it that way. Or at least enjoy it while she can.

She turns to Marcus, a smile tugging at her lips as they father their supplies and belongings and she teases in an undertone, “Short. Sweet...Ish.”

“Too much?” He asks grimly, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“No, no it was fine.” She tells him, forcing herself to keep a straight face, “You got results. You could maybe have gotten them with a chisel instead of a sledgehammer-“

He groans and she takes pity on him and breaks off, “You’re officially in charge of all public announcements.” He informs her gruffly.

She smiles at him and nods absently. Something in their relationship has shifted again. There’s still that undercurrent of tension between them. There always has been. A sparking of the static that flies every time they’re within a few feet of each other. But she enjoys it. The pull that tugs her towards him. The magnetic attraction that draws her to him time and time again. It’s familiar. And consistent. When everything else is spiralling into the chaotic unknown.

And _he_ is familiar. There’s an ease between them now. Pushing them in the same direction instead of pulling them to opposing sides and threatening to tear them in two. Now there is a sense of unity. A comfort. An understanding.

He stands and moves away from the station that brought them home and she joins him a moment later. The people sprawled around them slowly trickled in behind them. Marcus barks orders at the few soldiers they have with them and they flank the group, protecting them.

They move slowly. And with every minute that crawls by she feels his agitation grow. Even she knows what’s bothering him. They are immeasurably vulnerable like this, and he hates it.

They stop on Marcus’ command a few hundred feet inside the tree line.

She stares up at him, confused, “Here?” She demands, “There’s hardly room to stand between these trees, never mind pitch a tent.”

He looks down at her again and she catches a flicker of their old arguments in his eyes as he says with forced patience, “I don’t intend to lead this entire group through here. They should be safer here than they were by the lake. We’ll leave most of them here with as many soldiers as we can spare and take a smaller group scouting ahead for a suitable location. I’ve had a look at the maps, I have a place in mind, but I’m not taking everyone there until I’m sure it will work.”

She nods. It’s a good plan, but she can see he won’t follow through without her approval. So she gives it. Then shrugs off her pack and crouches down to it, already striking up a list in her head of the people she wants to check up on if they’ve stopped.

“You’re not coming?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, looking surprised by this.

“My place is here.” She replies evenly, shaking her head and adding daringly, “Besides, you’re a big boy, Marcus, I’m sure you can handle it without me.”

She could have sworn he winked at her but before she can start paying proper attention or has a chance to say anything he’s turned and begun picking through the group for those he thinks will be helpful.

He leaves with the promise of return and she reaches out and grips his hand firmly before he goes, only realising how much the move echoes the same gesture she made on the ship when he stood to sacrifice himself for them.

“Be safe, Marcus.” She says, in a tone that clearly tells him that that’s an order, not a request, her words fuelled by the realisation of how she could easily have been down here alone without him and how eager she was to avoid that.

She watches him and his little party out of sight then moves among their group again, making her rounds. Once she’s satisfied herself that everyone is holding together for the most part she settles herself and attempts to contact Jaha again. To update him on what’s going on and what they’re planning on now.

She’s alarmed when she picks up nothing but static over her earpiece. She wanders through the little clusters of people they’ve broken up in to until she finds Sinclair, sitting quietly beside his wife, one arm wrapped gently around her shoulders.

“Hey.” She murmurs, sitting herself down beside them, “Do you mind taking a look at this for me?” She asked, offering the earpiece to Sinclair, “I’m not getting through to the Ark anymore.”

“Sure.” He agrees, accepting it from her and beginning to examine it.

She turned to Julia while he did so, “How are you holding up?” She asked, giving the other woman’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’re doing okay.” She murmurs, one hand resting on her growing stomach as she shifted slightly into a more comfortable position.

“No problems?” Abby presses firmly, “Nothing you’re worried about.”

“Everything’s good with us, Dr. Griffin.” She says with a warm smile that Abby can never help returning.

“Okay.” She says quietly, “but if you need anything-“

“I know where you’ll be.” She breaks in, “Saving the world one person at a time as usual.”

Abby smiles again then turns back to Sinclair as he says slowly, “The battery’s gone. Or rather it’s going and so it’s conserving.” He tells her, adding the second part quickly when she opens her mouth to enquire about the static she was picking up, “It’ll still work for a while over a short range, but the Ark’s too far away, it knows it would use up all its power just trying to connect.”

“So we have no way of contacting Thelonious?” She asks, stricken.

“Maybe.” He tells her calmly, “Just not with this.” He says, handing her the earpiece again.

She thanks him and then gets to her feet again and moves among the group, quietly explaining what’s happening and keeping everyone as calm as she can while they wait.

Kane returns alone within the hour. She hurries over to him, concerned, “Marcus!” She calls out, speeding up, breathing hard by the time she reaches him, “What happened?” She demands, “Where is everyone else, what-“

“Abby relax, everything’s fine.” He tells her quickly, placing his hands on her shoulders to calm her, “We found a good spot, I left the others setting up.” He explains smoothly.

“And you came back alone?” She snarled, temper flaring.

“There was no sense in bringing them all back when they could be starting set-up. That’s why I took them in the first place.” He tells her irritably.

And she could kill him. Right here and right now. For daring to think after everything that he’s so easily disposable. That he doesn’t have to take care of himself as well as everyone else.

He catches her anger and begins softly, trying to balance things again before they spill over into a seemingly inevitable argument, “Abby-“

“Are you really so desperate to die today, Marcus?” She spits furiously, beyond any of his for the good of the people and doing what was necessary speeches to try and placate her, pitching away from him and dragging her fingers through her hair in frustration, trying to calm herself down.

“I’m fine, Abby.” He growls in a tone that’s clearly meant to imply that she’s overreacting.

“That is not the point, Marcus.” She snaps, taking a step closer to him so that they now stand inches apart, glaring up at him, “That is not even close to the point.” She hisses, still breathing hard, affording herself a look round and deciding that, with all eyes on them, now is not the time to start another world war. This will have to wait until later.

“Abby-“ He begins, almost reasonably, leaning down to murmur to her.

“Don’t.” She interrupts flatly, taking several deep breaths to calm herself before saying, “Just, just tell me about this camp you’ve found.”

He nods grimly, as aware as she is that this was far from over. He produced a small notebook from one of the pockets of his jacket. He had a rough sketch of what their camp could look like which he quickly explained to her.

She let him talk her through it as their group packed up once more. She suggested a few slight changes to the layout and pushes a little until he accepts them.

They arrive at the campsite he’s chosen and her eyes scan over it as people begin to file inside the ring of torches  Marcus’ people have planted around the outside of their clearing. She lets him stew anxiously by her side for a few minutes longer than she probably should have done before pronouncing herself satisfied.

She and Marcus spend the next few hours co-ordinating the set-up and watch as the beginnings of a camp begin to unfold under their guidance. People begin erecting and filling up tents around them. After a little while, Abby leaves him to it and installs herself in the medical tent, cataloguing and organising the supplies they have.

Exhausted but satisfied she rejoins the main group outside and takes stock of what’s been done. There’s a large command tent in the middle of the camp with smaller food and supply stores, weapons holds, and living shelters set up in neat rows and rings feeding away from it.

Neat, even channels between tens have formed under Marcus’ guidance and she uses them to easily pick her way towards him. They watch as people retreat into their shelters, clearing the camp but for the two of them and the few members of the guard who’ve volunteered their services to keep watch over them all for the night.

“Come on.” She tells him once everyone else has settled, catching him swaying slightly beside her, looking as tired as she feels, “We should try and get some rest before morning. We need to set up our tent.”

“Our?” He repeats, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Neither of us have spouses or children here.” She reminds him, “Like it or not, we’re the closest thing you or I are going to get to family down here. And all the tents are shared.” She says, feeling faintly irritated that she has to remind him of a rule he established only a few hours ago, saying tersely, “If we don’t follow our rules no-one else will.”

She’s too tired to fight him on this now. The sun will be up in a few hours and like it or not, so will she. She needs some rest before then.

“People will talk, Abby.” He tells her in mock concern, stopping outside a seemingly empty tent, set evenly halfway between the command tent and medical.

“Let them.” She growls irritably.

She couldn’t give less of a damn what people thought about their sleeping arrangements. He gestures lightly towards the tent and she ducks gratefully inside without another word and saw that he had already sorted pillows and blankets for both of them.

“I knew you’d miss me too much otherwise.” He smirks as he slips in behind her, collapsing down onto one of the blanket sets and watching her.

She curses him under her breath but he either doesn’t hear her or chooses to ignore her.  He settles, lying down and sorting himself but she stays sitting, hunched up, her knees drawn in to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

“You should try and get some rest, Abby.” He tells her quietly.

She nods, barely listening.

Now that she actually has a chance to stop and rest, she can’t. Everything that’s happened and everything that could now happen was overwhelming her.

Less than two days ago she had been sure that she was never going to see her daughter again. Less than two days ago she had been sure that she was going to die without ever holding her again, hearing her laugh or seeing her smile. She’d never speak to her again. Never see her again. Never have a chance to fix things between them. And now...Now...

“Abby? Are you alright?” His voice finds her from seemingly miles away and she quickly pulls herself together and manages to say,

“I’m fine, Marcus.”

The soft silence he leaves after this tells her he doesn’t believe her. That he’s giving her the option to talk to him about it if she wants. But she doesn’t want. She doesn’t even know where to begin.

After a few moments he quietly murmurs, “Alright...Sleep well, Abby.”

He turns over then, giving her what privacy he can within the confines of a tent, leaving her to her tangled thoughts.

Exhaustion grips her once more and she forces herself to lie down. Closing her eyes and taking several long, slow breaths, old breathing exercise she used to use to calm patients coming back to her and calming her now.

She finds that once she actually lies down beside him, their body heat keeping each other warm in such close quarters, another one of the reasons he had insisted on sharing, at her advisement, she finds that she is comfortable, and warm, and drifts off almost easily, thoughts of seeing Clarke again cradling her to sleep.


	2. Guilt

**Chapter 2**

Guilt

She sleeps badly. Barely getting enough to tide her over. She wakes earlier than she had planned and is surprised to find him up and dressed, quietly padding around their tent, trying not to disturb her.

"You're awake already?" She asks, her voice hoarse as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

He turns to her, startled by her sudden interruption, "I'm sorry, did I-" He begins, looking abashed.

"No, no." She reassures him quickly, pushing herself into a sitting position, "How long have you been awake?" She asks blearily.

He shrugs unconcernedly, "A while." He ventures helpfully.

"Are you okay?" She asks quietly.

Now that she's come to herself a little more and taken a proper look at him she wonders if he's slept at all. It wouldn't surprise her if he hadn't.

"Fine, Abby." He mutters distractedly, not looking at her as he answers, poring over something in the corner that she can't see.

She stands and pads over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder for a moment. He glances round at her but she's already turned away and started poking around the tent for some clothes, deciding not to push him.

She finds them neatly stacked and organised in a corner of the tent. Smiling, she grabbed her things, "Avert your eyes." She ordered flatly, beginning to wriggle out of her clothes.

"What- oh." He begins, not really listening to start with and turning to her to clarify and then flushing and staring determinedly at the canvas wall in front of him.

"I could have left, Abby." He mutters irritably to the wall.

"It's fine." She breaks in, rolling her eyes at him. Years of emergency quarantine showers and peeling off ruined scrubs as soon as she had the chance and the simple disregard that most people tended to have with doctors in general had stripped her of her modesty a while ago and she was not about to waste time pretending otherwise.

"What are you working on?" She asks casually, her back to him, partly to distract him before he imploded and partly to sate her own growing curiosity.

"Maps." He informs the tent, clearing his throat and providing a more thorough explanation a moment later when he realises that assessment isn't entirely helpful, "Before we left I pulled all of the information about the area we were going to land in. Just in case."

"Good call." She says, stepping over to stand beside him and peering around them at the detailed maps spread out in front of him.

He takes a slight step back to give her a better look. She runs her hands over the thin black lines that sketch beneath her fingertips.

_Clarke..._

Marcus pulls her from her thoughts as he says, "We have work to do before it's time to go." She agrees.

They split up.

He takes a deep breath emerging from the tent. He closes his eyes. Allows himself a moment. Then strides to the perimeter and summons his men to him. Their replacements appear on cue a few minutes later. He orders half of the group to get some rest before they do anything, all of them look like they're about to drop and that's the last thing he wants.

In addition to guard duties he wants them to build-up defences around their camp. Most have agreed that it's a good place to settle for long enough that it seems like a good idea. He suggests trenches at least to begin with. And to leave scope for the construction of a wall at some point.

He also requests that anyone who can be trained to defend themselves should be. Guns where possible, knives and hand-to-hand at minimum and to start working out a plan to make that a possibility. He moves among the camp, leaving them to their task, singling out people and finding things to keep them occupied. Stock checks. Put in place a rationing system. Finding ways to produce what they need when their food runs out.

Once he's satisfied, he goes in search of Abby.

She watches him head to the edge of camp while she turns and moves towards its heart. She finds Sinclair and takes him aside. He's proven himself these last few months. She trusts him. And his judgement. She explains her thoughts, her desire to re-establish communication with the Ark while they can. And to set up a system in camp to allow the guards to talk to those in Command.

He agrees that it's a good idea and goes on to quickly suggest a few things off the top of his head for her approval. She cuts him off, smiling, then tells him to run with it. He opens his mouth to ask her how and she tells him he's in charge of this. Do what he thinks is right.

She suggests that he takes a group back to the station by the lake and pick it clean. He can have as many people as he needs; the more the better, keep them busy. Strip anything he thinks he can use; the station itself as well, for more robust shelters, see what he can do with what he has.

She leaves him happily discussing ideas with Julia and heads back to the tent in search of Marcus.

"I'm coming."

He groans inwardly. He was expecting it. He had been expecting it since he had first pointed out the smoke in the distance to her. But he would have given almost anything to be wrong on this occasion.

"Abby-" He begins, faltering when he turns and catches that look in her eyes, fire burning through them, her jaw set, stubborn, determined, warning him not to bother trying to fight her on this.

"I'm coming, Marcus." She repeats stoutly. Daring him to challenge her. Daring him to say no to her. Daring him to try and stop her.

He pauses. Considering his options. "Can you give us a minute?" He murmurs quietly to the little party that surrounds them. It fragments at his request and breaks away, giving them some space and some privacy.

He moves in close to her and leans down to hiss, "This is a bad idea, Abby."

"I don't care." She tells him flatly, "This is my decision, Marcus." She growls firmly. "And I've made it."

He wonders if there's any point in arguing with her. Telling her that she's being stupid, that it's dangerous, that they can't lose her, they need her. That it's almost selfish of her. Because what if something happened to her? She's their doctor. And like it or not, these people are relying on her. He can't let her put herself at risk.

"If you find another station, if they've suffered casualties, you're going to need someone who can help take care of them, you're going to need a doctor." She tells him firmly, her eyes locking with his, grim determination settling in them.

He studies her quietly, watching her grow more restless and impatient with every second he let slip by and go to waste, waiting until he's sure she's about to snap and storm off on him he murmurs, "We both know that this is about more than being there for survivors of other stations."

She stares at him, "What do you mean?"

"Clarke." He breathes quietly.

Her stomach flips at the sound of her daughter's name. She closes her eyes. "You think the source of the smoke we saw from the lake might be the 100's camp." He says, softly, in a tone that implies he's telling not asking. He knows her too well for it to be anything else. And he saw the way she was looking at the maps earlier. He knows what she's thinking. And he's right. "That's why you're so determined to go with us."

She couldn't deny it. She couldn't lie to him. She wouldn't. She's not sure how to play this with him now. To just tell him that she's going. And to dare him to try and stop her. To appeal to him. To keep pushing.

"You're not a soldier, Abby." He says firmly. She rounds on him, ready to snap at him and tell him that unless martial law takes control of this camp over her dead body then that doesn't mean a damn thing. But something about his tone and something in his eyes when she faces him makes her pause and let him finish.

"You do as I tell you." He growls firmly, "You follow orders. Whatever they may be. I can't let anything happen to you. I won't. Your safety is my responsibility.  _You're_ my responsibility. Do you understand?" She nods firmly. If those are his terms. She'll take them. Gladly. All she wants is to see Clarke again. And she accepts that there are risks involved with that.

She ducks inside the tent to gather what she needs for the trip. He sighs as she slips into the tent. Trying to reassure himself that he's made the right decision.

Ideally, he would have tied her to a tree and left her there until he returned. He would at least have known that way that she would be safe.

Given the fact that they now slept in the same tent however, he could not have said the same about him afterwards.

But she would have been alright.

He consoled himself a little in thinking that, at least this way he could keep an eye on her and have half a chance of keeping her safe. He dragged his fingers through his hair, silently cursing her, but something like fondness stole through him for a moment when she emerged from the tent behind them, grim but determined. He'd never had a hope in Hell of convincing her to stay behind.

"Are you ready?" She glances up at him, even as he turns to look down at her and their eyes meet. Anticipation and adrenaline and anxiety flooding her body all at once. She takes several deep breaths, trying to calm herself and avoid getting her hopes up.

But she can't. It's Clarke. She can feel it in her gut. She's always been a woman of science. Of facts. Of logic. But years of doing the job that she did had taught her to trust her instincts and her gut. And her gut was telling her that her daughter had something to do with that smoke.

It had sunk into her bones; into her very soul, and from the second she had seen it. She knew.

"I'm coming, Clarke." She whispered the words under her breath, a prayer from her; a promise to her daughter. She feels Marcus' hand on her arm, gentle but firm at the same time.

He could feel her shaking slightly beneath his touch. Trembling, as though a current was shivering through her body, "Stay close to me." He murmured quietly.

She nodded her agreement once more and, with her by his side, he led the little search party out of camp and into the thick forest around them.

He had insisted to her that this forest would keep them safe. That the trees would offer them protection and shelter them. But unease crept through her at every opportunity.

She tensed whenever the wind stirred the branches of the trees around them. Oppressive statues, guardians of secrets that they had no right to know.

Marcus felt it too.

Though he reassured her whenever she jumped at the sounds that surrounded them. He was tense and ready. For what she had no idea. But she was glad that she was with him. After what seems like a lifetime, the trees begin thin around them.

Glancing around he calls for them to stop and rest for a few minutes. He watches as they slump down gratefully. He hands her a water bottle as she sinks down beside him, breathing hard. She accepts it. And for a while things are quiet. And calm.

The faint dawn light manages to filter through the trees around them. And he dared to let himself relax for a moment. And savour the moment. He moves them on again just as he feels like she's beginning to get her breath back.

They've been walking for a little while when he says quietly, "How are you holding up?"

She blinks up at him in surprise, "What do you mean?" She asks, puzzled.

"Seeing Clarke again." He says, "Are you nervous? You didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

She considers this for a moment wondering what else he's picked up on without her registering. She's not sure how to answer him. So much of their time on the Ark was taken up second guessing each other and feeding each other half truths and playing games. And it exhausted her. They have no time or energy for that anymore. And she finds the truth spilling from her before she's aware of what's happening.

"I'm scared." She whispers, "She's my only daughter. She, she's all I have left. And she's been down here alone. I haven't seen her...And she despises me." She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her voice shaking as she said that. He offers her a hand to help her down a steep bank. She takes it and continues, "So I'm scared. I'm scared that she'll never forgive me. That I've lost her." She hesitates, "But I have a chance now." She murmurs, "A chance to put things right between us. I get to see her again." She whispers, a sad smile tugging at her lips, "Hold her again. See her smile."

She pauses for a moment, letting herself get lost in memories for a second. She takes several deep breaths before she whispers, "I would do anything for that." She says, "Just, just to see her again. To know that she's okay. Anything. Anything just to see her again."

There are tears in her eyes, she realises, too late, and she tries to wipe them away before he sees. But he's already fished a handkerchief from his pocket for her. She tugs it from him and dabs at her eyes, avoiding him.

"I'm sorry." She mutters awkwardly, not meeting his gaze.

"It's alright." He says, his tone surprisingly soft.

It's not a side that she sees of him all that often. It's not a side that anyone sees of him all that often. But it suits him somehow. It feels more like him than anything else.

"She's my daughter." She growls suddenly, anger flaring through her without warning or explanation, releasing her as quickly as it had taken hold and she whispers, "She's my daughter. And the only time I've held her in, in so long was when she was being taken away from me."

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She nodded in thanks. Grateful for the contact. It had been too long. Too long since she'd had anyone reach out to her like that. She welcomed it. She needed it.

"I have to find her, Marcus." She breathed, her hands curling into fists, her nails biting into her palm, sending sharp pulses of pain through her nerves, "I have to."

"You will." Is all he says.

It's enough.

"How did you know?" She asks quietly. Glancing up at him.

"You're too stubborn to ever not get what you want. I've learned that by now." He tells her, smiling at her.

"No, I just...How did you know? That, that it was bothering me, that...That I needed someone to talk to."

She hadn't even known half of what she'd been bottling up recently until it had all come spilling out of her a few moments ago.

He took his time in answering her before he said simply, "I know you, Abby."

He moves away from her then, deciding to give her a little space and time to herself. He checks up on the others in their group, rations out their food and reminds them of the dangers of using guns out here. The noise attracting attention, the potential for ricochet. It's standard stuff. He knows it. They know it. But it gives him the opportunity to give her a little air.

He's drawn back to her after a little while of resisting mounting urges to check-up on her, glancing towards her so often that his neck begins to knot. Once he finally catches her eye and they share a quick look, he returns to her and falls back into step with her once more.

She watches him scan the area around them and sighs inwardly. Right now, the greatest danger to him isn't some unseen attack from out of sight; it's himself. Which it generally tends to be. She knows him too.

She rummages in her pack for a minute then pokes him in the ribs with an energy bar, "Eat." She commands firmly, thrusting it at him.

"I'm fine, Abby." He murmurs tersely.

She rounds on him, cutting him off and stepping in front of him, placing her hand flatly on her chest and forcing him to stop.

"No." She growls, softly, "You're not."

He's a Hell of a long way from fine. He's gaunt and pale and distant. More so than usual. She's beginning to get worried about him.

"You're not fine, Marcus." She snarls, losing patience with arguing with him on this.

He seems to sense the incoming tirade and clearly doesn't want an audience for it because he rest of their party move on, and move on quickly, following a few brusque signals from him.

"You're not okay." She repeats, trying to keep her voice level and steady, "You haven't been okay since the cull." She says firmly, "Far from it." She snaps at him, her voice breaking, anger and frustration boiling over into her words.

"You don't, you don't understand, Abby." He breathes, shaking his head and lowering his gaze, his quiet tone driving her crazy.

He never passes up an opportunity for a slanging match with her, the chance to burn off a little tension with her, to draw out whatever feelings they've both been bottling up for too long. It ended up being cathartic. They'd seek each other out. Find something that they knew would push the other's buttons, get under their skin, piss them off, and needle away until they finally snapped. And that's what she wanted. That's what she wanted from him now, and she was pushing every button she could think of to provoke a response he wasn't giving her what she wanted. The one time that she needed him to.

She changes tact.

"I don't understand?" She hisses, taking a step forwards, placing herself almost offensively close to him, "What don't I understand, Marcus?" She demands, her voice shaking, trying to bait him into a reaction.

It works.

"You don't understand how it feels, Abby." He snarls at her.

"How what feels?" She presses, poking her finger into his chest, riling him up. His eyes flash dangerously but she refuses to back down.

"How it feels to have the blood of three hundred and twenty people on your hands." He growls at her, taking a step forwards, their bodies jolting together, but she stands her ground, facing him, breathing hard but holding firm, as he goes on, trembling, his voice barely above a whisper, "Three hundred and twenty people, Abby. Three hundred and twenty people died. Because of me. Because of what I did."

He pitches away from her breathing hard. She gives him a moment. She knew that. She knew that the cull had been weighing on his mind and tearing him apart for weeks now but nothing she had tried before, the gentle persuasion, quietly bringing it up and alluding to it, even when it was just the two of them, had made a slight bit of difference. He deflected and changed the subject or talked around it until he could avoid her altogether.

"You have no idea, Abby." He whispered harshly, his voice cracking, "You have no idea what it's like, you don't understand, you will never understand what it's like to have people look at you and see nothing but a monster."

He lifts his eyes and meets hers and she can feel the pain and the grief and the guilt that he's been carrying around with him for so long. But there isn't a trace of self-pity in his tone or his face. Nothing but harsh, stark facts that are destroying him, And she hated him for that. For making it sound so simple. When it was anything but.

She stepped towards him again, their faces only inches apart. "My own daughter looks at me and sees a monster, Marcus." She whispers dangerously, steel in her voice despite the fact that she can't stop it shaking. "I understand." She snarls, "I understand and I wish to God I didn't but I do." She said, she can feel hot tears sting at her eyes and she doesn't bother to wipe them away. Her own demons have been dragged to the surface now, and there's no quieting any of them. "My husband is dead because of a decision that I made." She says, her shoulders shaking as she tries to control herself enough to say, "My husband's blood is on my hands. The father of my child is gone because of me. So don't tell me that I don't understand." She growls, advancing on him, daring to look away from her, to break eye contact with her now, to step back from her. He doesn't. He never does. He never will. "I do." She chokes, "I do. I understand, perfectly, but you...This has to stop." She tells him fiercely, "You have to stop this, Marcus."

"Stop what, Abby?" He demands, his temper still fraying despite her outburst, "Trying to keep us all alive?" He pushes.

"No, trying to get yourself killed." She screams at him, losing whatever self-restraint she had had as he finally pushes too far, "Thinking that you're disposable." She growls at him in frustration, "Walking through this place alone for the sake of a few tents and torches." She goes on, seeing him open his mouth to snap at her and cutting across him before he has the chance.

"You offered to die for these people, Marcus." She whispers, shaking her head, her eyes boring into his, trying to make him listen, trying to make him actually hear her, "You offered to stay behind and sacrifice yourself without a second thought. Because you feel guilty. Because you think that you deserve that. And I get that. Okay." She says quickly, anticipating him biting back and stopping him, "I get it, Marcus." She murmurs softly, her body shaking, "But you can't." She whispers, closing her eyes for a moment, opening them again to meet his as she murmurs, "You can't do that to me again. Not down here." She says, her voice snapping, "That's not fair." She tells him flatly.

"I can't do this on my own." She says, "You said you needed me. Before. When you asked me to be joint Chancellor with you. You said you needed me. We need each other. I can't do this on my own anymore than you can." She tells him. And it's true. They both know that it's true. "If you to want to help these people," She breathes, taking a step forwards, praying that she's finally making progress with him, that some of this is penetrating the thick wall of stubbornness that cloaks him, as ever present as the worn black jacket he has on, "If you want to settle whatever debt it is that you think you owe them then you be here for here for them. You're no use to them dead." It sounds harsh, but sometimes that's all he'll listen to. She goes on, her tone softening considerably as she breathes, "They need you, Marcus." She says simply, adding without thinking, " _I_ need you." His eyes meet hers once more and she dares to think for a moment that he might actually be listening to this.

"Do you understand?" She demands, urgently, reaching forwards and taking his hand between hers, giving it a firm squeeze.

He opens his mouth to answer her, without having any idea of what he's going to say to her, sure he'll think of something, but he's distracted by something behind him.

He turns sharply, placing a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in place, his eyes scanning their surroundings. He shifts the gun in his hands to his shoulder, his finger feathering the trigger.

"Marcus." She growls, irritated by his sudden disregard, not having heard anything out of the ordinary.

He raises a hand to make her stop. He feels her freeze behind him, realising that something's wrong.

"Stay behind me." He orders tersely. Reaching back he grabs her wrist and tugs her closer to him, shielding her body with his own.

"Marcus, what-"She begins, sounding more confused and frustrated than anything else.

"Shh." He growls, warningly.

He feels her tense behind him, her fingers curling tightly around the back of his jacket, pulling him to her, trying to tug him back. He steadies himself, flicking the safety off of the gun, waiting, ignoring her insistent efforts to make him move to safety. Waiting. Tensed. Feeling her shaking behind him. Quietly murmuring to her. Telling her that everything would be okay.

"Marcus-" She murmurs uncertainly, shifting against him. He catches her arm, glancing back at her, worried.

She steps out from behind him.

"Abby no!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback so far and as always thank you for reading. Any further feedback will be greatly appreciated.


	3. We Can Do Nothing For The Dead

** Chapter 3 **

We Can Do Nothing For The Dead

“Abby.” He growls.

She feels him catch her arm, trying to pull her back to safety. She raises a hand, trying to calm him and tell him that it’s okay. She doesn’t know why she’s doing this but instinct, overwhelming instinct is telling her that whatever this is has no intention of harming them.

Marcus clearly doesn’t share her faith. He continues edging slowly towards her, gun still raised, grabbing at her arm and trying to tug her back to him but she evades him every time.

She continues moving forwards. Slowly inching her way closer and closer.

She starts in fright as something staggers out onto the path in front of them. He darts forwards and roughly grabs the back of her jacket, dragging her back to him, covering her, gun still raised.

But she realises what’s going on before he does. She places a hand on the top of his gun, lowering it, turning to him and meeting his eyes, trying to calm him. “It’s okay.” She murmurs softly to him.

Someone has managed to find them. Another survivor from the Ark. Chalk white. Half-dead. Desperate. Scarlet blood sheeting from a vicious head wound. Hands clamped around their stomach. Hopelessly trying to staunch the bleeding from their abdomen.

“Help me.” He whispers hoarsely.

His eyes find hers and lock with them and she feels a flicker of the feverish terror that’s burning through them. It’s a look that she knows too well. That she’s seen too many times. That still tears through her after all these years. A final plea from the dead to the living. A look shared between two people who know what’s coming. And know that there’s nothing to be done.

And she knows that. She knows. And she knows what it will do to her when she can’t help them. But she has to try. She breaks away from Marcus and begins to hurry over. He steps in front of her, blocking her. There’s fire and iron in her gaze when she turns to glare at him.

“Move, Marcus.” She snarls furiously at him, attempting to shove him out of the way.

“It could be a trap. A lure.” He snaps at her, still protectively blocking her.

She had considered it. After everything the kids had told them about the grounders she had forced herself to. At first. But it wasn’t. No-one could fake that.

“It’s not.” She whispered softly, hoping that lowering her tone will make him listen.

“You don’t know-“

“I know.” She interrupts quietly but firmly.

Their eyes meet. Understanding flares between them. He nods and releases her.

“Be careful, Abby.” He cautions, still wary.

She turns and hurries towards the injured man. She kneels down beside him, telling him that she’s a doctor, that she’ll help him.

His hand grasps desperately at hers with surprising strength given his condition. She gives it a gentle squeeze and somehow finds a smile for him. Trying to reassure him.

She opens her pack and pulls out the medical supplies she’s brought, keeping one eye on her new patient while she does so. Marcus keeps a steady distance from her; ready to assist her if need be, but otherwise backs off and gives her space to work. She’s grateful for that, hating being crowded.

She tears open the injured man’s shirt, sodden with blood and stretched thin, ripping easily. She closes her eyes and hears Marcus hiss behind her as they both draw the same, inevitable conclusion at the sight of his ruined chest.

“Okay.” She whispers quietly, “Okay, easy now, easy, you’re okay.” She soothes.

She gives him some water, trying to calm him and settle him, holding his hand tightly as her eyes catalogue every wound. Trying to keep her voice as quiet and steady as she can she turns from her lost patient to meet Kane’s eyes.

“Marcus, give me your knife.” She says softly, not taking her eyes from the man before her.

He does without question. She takes it from him, nodding in thanks. She begins to brush her fingers over his ribs, counting, still murmuring to try and soothe the terrified man under her care.

“Abby.” Marcus breathes, stopping her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, and saying quietly “Let me.” She shakes her head.

“No.” She whispers firmly.

He takes his hand away, letting her do what she has to.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself then slips the knife between his ribs in one fluid movement, straight into his heart. Warm blood pools over her fingers and she feels her breath catch in her chest. Her body shakes. And she takes several deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself. He stills beneath her. The fight and the panic and the terror going out of him. He looks almost peaceful.

She closes his eyes, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Marcus gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze and she begins taking slow, deep, measured breaths trying to steady herself unable to wrench her eyes away from him. Marcus’ hand gently squeezes her shoulder again, reminding her that he’s there and she reaches back and places her hand on top of his, silently thanking him. Her eyes meet his for a moment and she nods to him, grateful to have him there.

“Sir!” They both look up as one of Marcus’ men hurries back into the clearing. “Sir I think you should come with me.” He says breathlessly, turning to her next adding hastily, “And you, Doctor Griffin.”

He rushes off.

 She cleans the blade of the knife off on the grass then hands the knife back to Marcus. He presses it back, “Keep it.” He murmurs. She hesitates then nods, sliding it into her belt. She gathers up her supplies then gets to her feet and strides off after the officer without a word, unable to look at him.

He falls into step with her, glancing down at her every few minutes but he doesn’t try and speak to her or force her into talking to him. She could have loved him for that.

“I had to.” She found herself whispering, staring straight ahead of her and not looking at him, her voice cracking as she swallowed and choked, “I had to. It would’ve taken hours. He would’ve been in pain. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t- That was- It was the only way I could help him. I had no choice, I-“

He tenderly placed his hand on her arm, rubbing slowly up and down, trying to soothe her, “I know, Abby.” He murmured gently.

She nods, and takes several minutes before saying firmly, “Come on. We have work to do.”

He doesn’t try and stop her, though she can tell he thinks this is a bad idea. But he says nothing.

They spill out onto the site of another landing. Though this looked more like a crash. The station they had been in had splintered upon impact. Fragmented bits of metal twisted and broken were strewn across the clearing. Chaos burst into view everywhere she looked. She turned to him.

“Help me.” She murmured to him.

“What do you need?” He asked quietly.

She led him into the heart of the tragedy that was unfolding around them. Then directed him towards people he could help without her and to help her moving debris to get to people who had been trapped.

She helped who she could. Stitching and bandaging cuts. Setting and strapping up broken bones. Her hands were covered in blood by the end. And not all of it from healing. Too many of the people she came across were beyond her skills to save. Beyond anyone’s skills to save. She was glad that she had kept Marcus’ knife.

His eyes found her every so often. She could see him turning to look at her, his eyes flicking towards her every time she moved on. She nodded to him to begin with. Letting him know that she was okay. Then became unable to meet his gaze as time went on.

Eventually he moved back over to her. “Abby.” He murmured.

“I’m fine.” She said automatically. She was fine. She had to be fine. Everyone else needed her to be fine. So she was.

“Abby.” He repeated gently, crouching down opposite her and taking her hands between his own. She meets his eyes, wide and concerned, “Come on.” He says quietly.

“What?” She whispers distantly.

He gives her hands a gentle squeeze and tries to bring her back to him. She glances up towards him as he presses the knife back into her hands.  She looks back down a few seconds later. The girl she was tending to was between sixteen and seventeen. Thick blonde hair. Bright eyes. And all she could see was Clarke.

Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly understood why Marcus had come to her. He stood up and encouraged her to do the same. It was only then that she realised how badly her legs were cramped from how long she had been sitting frozen in the same position.

“You should take a break.” He suggests softly, “Get something to eat, something to drink, rest for a little-“

“No.” She says immediately, her voice brittle, snapping. “No, Marcus.” She says again, a little calmer, “I’m fine, I’m, I’ll be fine.” He opens his mouth to argue with her but they’re both distracted when someone else calls her name from behind them.

“Abby? Abby!”

It took her a moment to recognise him but once she did relief coursed through her and she felt her heart lift for the first time that day.

“Jackson!” She gasped, staggering forwards and throwing her arms around him.

“Abby.” He breathed, smiling and holding her close.

She felt a soft smile spreading across her face, closing her eyes and relaxing into the embrace, glad to have him back again.

Ever since Marcus had pointed out that it was Alpha Station they had found she had been trying to force herself not to think about all of the people she knew on the station. But she had never been very good at not dwelling on things she shouldn’t be thinking about.

She hugged him tighter instead. He withdrew slightly, looking over her then grasping her hands, that were still stained red with blood, startled, “Are you okay?” He demanded, panicked, “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

“No.” She reassured him quickly as Kane stepped closer, suddenly concerned, “No, I’m fine, it, it’s not my blood.” She told him shakily.

“You’re sure?” He pressed anxiously.

She nodded firmly, “I’m fine, Jackson.” She repeated insistently.

He sighed, visibly relieved, nodding, “Good.” He said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He told her, a sudden smile blossoming on his face.

She found herself returning it almost automatically, shoving him gently, “Go find a mirror then come back and talk to me.”

He smiles again and she pulls him down into another hug, “It’s good to see you again.” She breathed.

“Is Kane really that bad?” He asked, releasing her and grinning at her.

She feels a faint laugh drawn from her despite everything, “No.” She shrugs evenly, “It could be worse.” She says, turning and smirking at Marcus as she does so.

She looks back to Jackson again, sobering up considerably as she murmurs, “What happened, Jackson? The station? The...” She trails off, gesturing around at the chaos surrounding them.

“Nothing. To begin with.” He says slowly, “We separated from the Ark alright. Survived re-entry. The parachutes deployed. Everything seemed to be okay. Then something....Happened. I think we hit another station.” He says, shaking his head, “I got knocked out on the way down.” He says, “I don’t remember much after that I-“

“That’s okay.” She tells him quickly, looking to reassure him, “It’s okay, you’ve done well here, Jackson.” She reassures him quickly, squeezing his shoulder. “We have a camp set up.” She tells him quietly, “A few miles away. Somewhere safe. Somewhere we can take the survivors.” She tells him bracingly, trying not to think of the young girl she lost.

“I tried.” He tells her quietly, “To help as many of them as I could but...”

“You did good.” She says quickly, squeezing his shoulder, “You did good, Jackson.”

She swallows hard. The girl’s eyes haunting her. Her terror. Her panic _. ‘No...No...Please.’_

But she’d had no choice. There was nothing she could have done. Nothing. She knew that. She did. But her heart was racing. And her lungs weren’t taking in enough oxygen. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe and the world was pitching beneath her and bile was rising in the back of her throat and everything was moving too fast.

“Abby!” Marcus’ voice, sharp in her ear, his arm tight around her waist, supporting her.

“Are you okay?” Jackson asked her, reaching out to her, concerned.

She nodded, giving Marcus’ hand a quick squeeze, causing him to cautiously release her though he stayed close to her just in case.

“Fine.” She said trying to pull herself together, “I’m fine, Jackson.” She tells him firmly, forcing her voice to remain steady, “Marcus can help you gather the survivors and figure out what to do, I, I just need to check on something.” She tells them, turning away from them without giving either of them the chance to answer her or argue with her.

She walked calmly and firmly away from them until they were out of sight. Then she broke into a run. And ran as though she was being chased. Without having any idea of what she was running from or what she was running towards; just knowing that she had to get away from where she was.

She sank to her knees by a small stream, panting and trembling violently. She dipped her hands into the water, gasping at how cold it was. She withdrew them, still caked in scarlet. She thrusts her hands desperately back into the water, grazing her knuckles on the rough stones beneath the surface, panting and frantically rubbing at her hands, trying to clean the blood from them but it’s beginning to feel like it’s been tattooed into her skin. She scrubs her skin raw trying to get rid of the blood, tears beginning to blur her vision as the panic rises in her.

She starts as something warm brushes against her hands. She opens her eyes and finds Marcus hunched down beside her, his hands wrapping gently around hers stopping her before she hurts herself. She stills. And calms at his touch. Without being entirely sure why. But she lets him. She lets him calm her down. Lets him take care of her a little.

He gently washes her hands, his eyes never leaving hers as he does so. They’re both quiet. She doesn’t speak and he doesn’t push her to. Once he’s done he hands her a cloth to dry off with and murmurs quietly, “Are you alright, Abby?”

She nods, inadvertently dropping her gaze as she says, trying to project more confidence than she felt as she said simply, “I’m a surgeon, Marcus, I’m used to having blood on my hands.”

He watches her for a long time before he finally murmurs, “Not like this.”

She lowers her gaze, feeling a tremor run through her, swallowing hard before she answers, “No. Not like this.” She agrees finally, glancing up at him again, “I’ll be okay.” She tells him softly, “We have work to do.”

 He nods.

She pushes herself to her feet and hastily gathers her things. They turn and head back towards the crash site. He explains that he, Jackson and the Guard have managed to gather all of the survivors and their supplies and organise them for the trip back to camp.

He’s clearly anxious about something and a little bit of pushing on her part causes him to reveal his concerns to her, “We have a big group. A lot of people are injured. We’re going to move slowly. And we’re going to draw the attention of every living thing for miles.”

She turns to look up sharply at him, something in his tone striking her, “What are you saying?” She asks, eyes narrowing, words spilling from her before she can stop them, “You want to leave some of these people behind to give the rest of us a better chance?”

He freezes in place. Stopping. Looking down at her. His expression hard to read. But she instantly regrets her words, “I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

He cuts her off, his voice quiet, his tone measured but forced, “Is that really what you think of me Abby?” He asks her, something stirring in his eyes that she can’t place.

“No.” She murmurs quickly, “No, I, I’m sorry Marcus, I shouldn’t have said that.” She says sincerely, guilt welling up in her.

He nods distractedly, turning away from her, his expression hard to read.

They headed back to the crash site. She glanced up at him as a funeral pyre came in to view. “You’re burning them?” She breathed.

He nods sadly, “There are too many to bury.” He says, his muscles tensed, sure she’s going to argue with him. “We have a duty to protect the living and-“

She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, “And there’s nothing we can do for the dead.” She murmurs softly to him.

He nods quietly to her. They rejoin the group and watch as the fire begins to flare up around the bodies of their dead, consuming them. She stares, transfixed, curling her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

She starts as she hears him murmur quietly beside her. She recognises the words a few seconds later as the Traveller’s Blessing.

More voices join to his. The passage spreads slowly around the listeners until it surrounds her and the pyre. The final phrase ‘may we meet again’ echoes hauntingly around the forest surrounding them.

Afterwards, the dense crowd fractures and splinters, gathering supplies and assisting the wounded. Marcus sends out a select party in front of them to scout the way ahead and has the group flanked by look-outs. Together they lead the main body of people away from the crash site and head towards the safety of camp.

On the way, someone calls out to them from near the back. They’ve found another station. Not as badly damaged as Alpha, but bad enough. She closes her eyes already exhausted. And she just wishes that someone else would deal with it. Because she can’t. She can’t go through that again. She doesn’t want to go through that again. She just wants help. Someone to take the weight off of her shoulders and help her. Because she’s been strong for so long now. And she’s tired. She’s so tired. And she can’t.

But she has to. She has to.

And somehow she finds a med kit in one hand and Marcus’ knife in the other.

She steps forwards once more, hearing Marcus split up the survivors. Sending most of them on towards camp using the people they brought with them as guides, taking anyone with any medical experience with them, along with a few soldiers for protection.

They move among the wreckage, helping who they can, sending them on towards the group headed back to camp in smaller chunks. By the time they’re done. She’s utterly exhausted.

Marcus stays close to her on the way back, afraid that she’s going to fall perhaps, and she’s glad that he does because she’s not too steady on her feet after the day they’ve had. He continually forces food and water in to her while eating nothing himself.

He looks the way she feels. Pale, gaunt, covered in blood and already too tired for what they’re being asked to do.

“It’ll get easier.” He says softly to her as they go.

She glances up at him, nodding absently, then turns away without answering.

He hesitates a moment, as though considering the wisdom of his next words, before deciding to say softly, “You’ll find her, Abby.” She turns to stare at him. “I know how desperate you are to find that camp, Abby. You’ve been on edge all day.” He says softly.

She flushes slightly, knowing now that she doesn’t have to explain anything to him. He knows her too well for that.

“You’ll find her.” He repeats firmly.

She manages a weak smile at his efforts for her and nods. He tries to hand her more food and she glares at him, shoving it back and grimacing at him until he grudgingly eats to keep her happy.

Satisfied, she lets him be. They spend the rest of the walk back in companionable silence. Once they reach camp, she finds that most of the survivors they’ve brought back have already been allocated empty tents that had been set up the day before.

“You knew we’d find more people?” She demands, turning to him in surprise, “More survivors?”

He shrugs, a soft smile touches his lips and he says quietly, “I had hope.”

He moves off around the perimeter of the camp before she can answer him, assessing the progress that’s been made in their absence.

“I’d like these trenches a little deeper, the gate a little narrower, the-“

“Marcus.” She breathes, laying a hand on his arm, “Savour the moment.” She says quietly, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “You’ve done well here. Enjoy that.”

He nods, managing another smile for her.

“We should get some sleep.” She tells him, “You can complain about gates and trenches tomorrow.” She says firmly nudging him towards their tent.

She’s asleep in what feels like seconds, physically and emotionally drained after the day’s events.

It doesn’t last.

She wakes, panting, the thing blankets twisted around her, drenched in cold sweat. Terrified. A few hours later. She raises her hands to her eyes turning them over. She can’t make them stop shaking. But they’re clean. No blood...

She tries to convince herself that it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But it’s too vivid. Too clear. And it was all too real. Just a few hours ago. That girl. That petrified young girl. The knife. The blood. _Clarke._

Bile hits the back of her throat and she pushes herself up and away, breathing hard, hot tears stinging her eyes. She ducks out of the tent, spilling out into the camp, desperate to get away, to escape. She doubles over outside, wrapping her arms around her stomach, gasping at the cool, fresh air, tears streaming from her eyes.

Fingers grasp desperately at her. Unspoken prayers that she can’t answer. Hot blood weeps across her hands. Strangled pleas, ‘No, no, no, no!.’ tear through her.

She sinks to her knees, a hand clamped over her mouth, struggling to pull herself back together. Without warning, something snaps and she slips back inside the tent. She takes several deep breaths that rattle through her chest. She glances down at Marcus but he’s still and quiet and she’s glad she hasn’t disturbed him.

She lets him sleep and grabs what she needs in a hurry then leaves. The guards watch her as she strides from the gates but seem to sense better than to challenge her. She moves away from camp and easily finds the shallow pools that have been set aside for bathing.

She drops her towel and a change of clothes by the water’s edge and strips down, baring herself to the cold. Her shirt clings to her though and her skin burns and the cool air is somehow soothing. She eases herself into the water and moves to where it cascades from a high peak, forming a natural shower.

The water is freezing and she shivers but it helps to hide her ears and the stains they would have otherwise left on her skin. She picks apart her braid with trembling fingers then washes the sweat and dirt and blood from her and tries to calm herself down a little bit.

It was a habit she had fallen into on the Ark. If she lost a patient, or had to deliver some particularly bad news or was just overworked and overwhelmed and more stressed than she could handle the shower rooms were where she inevitably ended up.

Jake had worried so she had begun writing little notes to him explaining what was going on and where she was. It hadn’t taken long before he started joining her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him, listening to her and comforting her however he could.

She would have given almost anything for him to be here with her now. But he wasn’t. He was gone. Because of her. All because of her.

Fresh tears flooded from her eyes and she gripped onto the wall beside her to steady herself. By the time she staggers from the pool her throat is raw and her palms are red but she feels a little better. She dries herself off and dresses quickly before slipping back into camp.

She ducks back into her tent, sinking back down onto her blankets, “Are you okay?”

She glances up at him as he tenderly drapes a blanket around her shoulders. She pulls it more tightly around herself as she sits down beside her. After a moment, she shakes her head. She doesn’t see any sense in lying to him when the answer is obvious to both of them.

He’s clearly waited for her to come back, worried about her. She won’t lie to him now. He gives her a moment then asks softly, “Do you want to talk?”

She shakes her head again. She doesn’t even know where she’d start. He nods, understanding, unwilling to push her. He shifts slightly beside her and she instinctively reaches out and takes his hand in hers, turning to meet his eyes. He gives her hand a quick reassuring squeeze and nods to her to tell her that he understands.

He sits quietly beside her while she settles a little, not forcing conversation with her, just letting her sit beside him and relax.

“You should try and get some sleep.” He says gently.

She nods but trembles at the thought. He gives her hand another reassuring squeeze and says, “I’ll wake you at dawn.”

He doesn’t say anything else. But the implication stands that he’ll stay and be here if she needs anything. And somehow, that’s enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and following this story, as always feedback is greatly welcomed.


	4. Trust

** Chapter 4 **

Trust

After a few hours of lying in the dark listening to the even rhythm of her soft, measured breathing it becomes apparent that he’s not going to sleep tonight. He accepts that. He gets up, taking care not to wake her, then dresses in a corner of the tent.

He glances down to check on her again but she’s finally settled, still and peaceful. He ducks out of the tent and slips out of camp, setting up a nice even pace between the trees, trying to establish something of a familiar routine in this place.

It’s still quiet. A curious time for the world to be in, somewhere between sleeping and waking. It’s peaceful and calm. Something to settle him and put him at ease before the camp begins to wake and chaos unfolds around them.

It feels as though he’s alone for a little while. Completely alone. With no pressures or responsibilities to anyone or anything but the ground unfurling beneath his feet. It’s soothing. It’s something familiar. Something routine. Something that he knows. That’s purely for him. One little selfish indulgence that he allows himself. And he loves it.

He pauses for a rest at the lake they come down at. The sun is beginning to rise above the horizon, soft streaks of yellow dancing across the top of the water. He savours it for a moment then turns and heads back to camp. He ducks into the showers for a few minutes and curses himself for having taken longer than with his run than he had planned.

He hurries back to the tent and begins packing up for the day. He’s glad to find that she’s still asleep. Though only just. She was restless. Tossing and turning. Muttering in her sleep. She’s shaking. And clearly distressed. He watches her anxiously but knows better than to wake her and panic her.

Instead he moves around the tent clearing up and packing both of their bags. A short, sharp scream makes him turn, dropping the med kit he had been re-stocking to the floor, spilling it, his hand reaching for the knife at his belt.

He crouches down beside her as soon as he realises that they’re not under attack and she’s sitting bolt upright, panting and trembling. He places a tentative hand on her shoulder and takes it as a good sign that she doesn’t automatically throw him off.

“It’s okay.” He whispers softly feeling her shaking beneath his touch. He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “It’s okay, Abby, you’re safe, everything’s going to be alright.” He tells her gently, desperately trying to soothe her.

She turns to him, her eyes wide and haunted but she nods slowly, trusting him, reaching down and grasping his hand with both of hers, trying to ground herself.

He sits with her for a little while and tentatively starts rubbing her back after a few minutes. It seems to help. She relaxes a little and her breathing gradually begins to return to normal. He fetches her a glass of water and she accepts with shaking hands and takes several slow, shaky sips.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers hoarsely.

“It’s alright, Abby.” He tells her quietly, giving her shoulder another soft squeeze.

“No. No it’s not, Marcus, it’s-“ She chokes, shaking her head and pulling away from him. “it’s not alright.”

She can feel herself shaking again. The nightmare continuing to plague her despite the fact that she’s woken up. Her daughter’s eyes wide and gone and empty but for the unspoken accusation still haunts her. The way Jake’s had for months following his death.

Marcus is quiet for a long moment before he asks gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.” She whispers shakily.

Her hands twist anxiously together in her lap. She shakes her head. Trembling.

“I can’t. I can’t. Marcus, it’s too much.” She manages to tell him. Knowing that she’s not telling him a damn thing. But he’s patient. And quiet. And gives her time. She tries to pull herself together. She wants to tell him. She _needs_ to tell him. She needs to tell someone. It’s tearing her apart otherwise.

She takes several deep breaths. Closes her eyes. Begins to count. Follows her routine for calming herself before a surgery.

Her eyes open and lock with his a few moments later. His hand moves to gently rub her back again and her voice vibrates through him as she slowly begins to speak, cautiously flat and still. “I’ve lost patients before. On the table, mostly. They can’t take the surgery. It’s too much. Their bodies give out. There’s nothing I can do. But I tried. I tried to save them. I fought. I did everything I could. Everything.” She paused. Shaking. “And that. That was the only reason that I could sleep at night.”

He shifts a little closer to her as her voice breaks, trying to support her. She struggles, her voice strained and thick with emotion as she says, “I killed them. I swore an oath to do no harm. And I killed them.”

“Abby.” He begins, shocked.

She ignores him.

“I didn’t do anything.” She says, her body trembling, tears in her eyes that she brushes angrily away, “I didn’t help them. I didn’t even try. I just...I just killed them.”

“Abby.” He breathes, “Abby there was nothing you could do.” He says hopelessly.

She shakes her head, “Every...Every time I close my eyes I see them.” She chokes and her words strike a chord with him because he suddenly understands how she feels. Guilt. Overwhelming guilt floods through them both. He slides an arm around her waist without thinking and pulls her closer to him.

She tentatively rests her head on his shoulder, still trembling.

“I know.” He finds himself telling her, his voice shaking slightly.

She turns to look up at him, her eyes searching his. “The cull?” She breathes softly.

He nods.

She pauses.

They’d talked a little about this the other day on the way to camp but had been unwilling to continue with an audience. Now though...She didn’t want another fight with him. But she didn’t want another fight with him. But she did want to get him to open up about this to her; to anyone.

“I killed them.” He murmurs tautly to her.

She shifts a little closer to him, “Marcus you couldn’t have known.” She tried softly.

“I knew _exactly_ what I was doing, Abby.” He says quietly. “You were doing what you thought was the right thing.” She tells him.

She pauses, swallowing hard as she goes on. “You did the only thing you thought you could do to save everyone.” She trembles before she says, “The same way I knew exactly what I was doing when I told Thelonious about Jake.”

Tears fill her eyes and she ignores them as she whispers, “Because I thought that it was the only thing I could do to save him.”

 Silent tears stream down her cheeks.

_“Thelonious.”_

_She’s thought it over. She’s thought of every alternative. She’s desperate. She hasn’t got a choice. If she doesn’t do something; if she doesn’t do this, he’s going to die._

_He glances up from his papers._

_“Can I come in?” She asks tautly, already practically standing in his living room._

_He watches her for a moment then nods, looking curious, placing the pen he’d been scribbling with on the table in front of him and turning to face her._

_“I need to talk to you.” She says taut, pacing, her arms crossing defensively over her chest._

_“What’s wrong?” He asks in a measured voice._

_She turns to him, her eyebrows raised questioningly._

_“You only pace when you’re agitated, Abby.” He tells her matter-of-factly, “What’s wrong?”_

_“Jake.” She tells him, her voice cracking despite her best efforts to remain composed. But there’s too much at stake._

_“Why?” Jaha demands, “What’s happened?” He asks, pushing himself to his feet, concerned._

_She shakes her head, still not sure, her nails biting into her palm._

_“I need you to talk to him.” She says finally. “He won’t-“ She breaks off, anger flaring through her, “He won’t listen to me.”_

_“About what, Abby?” He asks._

_She bites her lip, still pacing. Then flips round to face him, meeting his eyes defiantly as she says, “We’re friends, Thelonious? I can trust you?” She pushes, desperate._

_“Abby what’s going on?” He demands, placing a hand on her shoulder._

_She’s come too far now. She just has to hope. With every fibre of her being. “The fault with the Ark’s oxygen.” She breathes._

_“I know, Jake told the council.” He says, looking perplexed._

_“He wants to tell everyone, Thelonious.” She whispers, “I tried to talk him out of it. I told him that it’d cause a panic. That the council won’t allow it, that they can’t.” She says urgently, “He won’t listen. He says he’s doing it for Clarke.” She mutters, closing her eyes in despair, dragging her fingers through her hair, “You need to talk to him.” She says beseechingly, “You’ve known him for a long time, he’ll listen to you.”_

_“You’re his wife, Abby.” He reminds her looking troubled and her stomach twists painfully, “If he won’t listen to you-“_

_She shakes her head. Panic taking over as she insists, “He thinks he’s doing this for me. And for Clarke. I can’t get through to him. That’s why I’m here Thelonious, that’s why I’m telling you this. You know what they’ll do to him if he goes through with this.” She says, shaking her head, “I can’t- You have to help me.” She breathes._

_He’s quiet for a long time before, “I’m sorry, Abby.” He says softly, closing his eyes then moving to the door._

_He summons one of the Guard and murmurs to them, too softly for her to hear. But she catches the word ‘treason’ and her heart stops._

_“Thelonious.” She whispers hoarsely, staggering towards him, her voice rising in terror, “Thelonious what did you do?” She demands, “What the Hell did you do?”_

_“What I had to.” He tells her softly._

_“No.” She breathes, launching herself at her, her fists pounding against every part of him she can reach, “No. No!” She screams at him, her throat burning as she howls in fury and fear._

_He puts his arms around her, restraining her and trying to comfort her, “Abby, I don’t have a choice-“ He tells her, his words loud and harsh in her ears._

_She wrenches free of him, spitting, “Yes, yes you do. You always have a choice.” He places his hands on her shoulders again , opening his mouth again and she shoves him away, “Get your hands off of me you son-of-a-bitch.” She snarls, throwing him off as he tries again._

_Furious, terrified tears begin streaming down her cheeks as she begs, “Call them off.” Her voice breaks, “Call them off. You’ve made your point.” She chokes, “I’ll stop him. I’ll stop him. I won’t let him do it. I won’t. I swear it. I swear it, please. Please. Please don’t do this. Please. Please.”_

_“It’s already done, Abby.”_

Tears are coursing from her eyes and she makes no move to stop them. He doesn’t know what to say or how to go about comforting her. But without warning she pushes herself to her feet and says flatly, “We should get going.”

He scrambles to his feet, alarmed at how suddenly she’s shut down on him, and places a hand on her arm, “Abby you’re in no state to go anywhere.”

She glares at him, fury flaring in her eyes as she snarls, “I’m going.”

“Abby-“ he begins reasonably, regretting his impulsive word choice. After so long spent arguing with her opposite a council table it should have been clear to him by now that the only sure fire way to make Abby Griffin do anything was to tell her not to.

She interrupts, “I’m going to find my daughter, Kane.” She tells him coldly, her voice softening slightly as she adds, “I have to.” She pauses letting that sink in for a moment before she demands flatly, “Are you coming or not?”

She turns away from him and he internally curses her. He should let her go and be damned. She’ll get lost or injured or who knows what out there and it’ll serve her right for being so stubborn and not listening to him.

But even as he thinks this he’s already instinctively moved to stand in front of her and look down at her even as she glares up at him.

“I’m coming, Abby.” He says softly yet firmly, “We are going. And we are going together.” He says steadily, “Alright?”

She’s tensed. Defiant. Glaring at him. Finally though, when he’s given up the hope of getting anything from her, her shoulders slump and she nods tersely in agreement, “Alright.”

She dips down and begins to gather together the fallen med kit to avoid looking at him. He leaves her to it then goes back for her once he’s gathered together the rest of their party. She’s still and silent and doesn’t look at him as she brushes past him saying, “Let’s go.”

She takes several deep breaths as she ducks from the confines of their tent. Marcus steps out behind her and she immediately begins to walk towards the gate. He follows with a poorly concealed sigh that she chooses to ignore. She’s quiet. She doesn’t know if she’s said too much or not enough but either way she’s done talking. All she wants right now is Clarke.

Marcus seems to sense her mood. He doesn’t try and continue their conversation from before and he doesn’t try and force small talk. But he stays close to her. She lets him. But she still won’t look at him. She can’t. She lost control. And she has no idea how to get it back.

They break after about an hour and he grimly refuses to stop or eat anything until she grudgingly does. Afterwards, he sits down beside her and waits. After a while he says softly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?” She whispers, playing for time.

“Jake.” He says. She closes her eyes, not looking at him as he says, “It wasn’t your fault, Abby.”

She turns to look at him, then, torn. She wants to believe him. Cruel words spring to the front of her mind. Blaming him instead. Blaming Jaha. Blaming anyone else. But she’s exhausted with that. She’s tired of fighting that day in, day out. And the truth slips from her in a sharp, broken whisper, “If I hadn’t-“

“Then he would have been floated anyway.” He interrupts softly.

She stares at him, shocked, finally she says evenly, “You need to work on your definition of making people feel better, Marcus.”

She stands as the group around them begins to shift and move on. He stands up as well and then says, “He would have released the video and been arrested and executed for treason.” He explains as they set off again. “You tried to save him by going to Jaha.” He presses firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.” He breathes.

“It was.” She tells him, shaking her head. “My daughter can’t look me in the eye anymore because she knows that I’m the reason her father is dead.” She says, her voice shaking, “I should have tried harder. I should have stopped him. I should have made him listen to me. I should have-“

“Abby.” He breaks in, smoothly moving to stand in front of her, gripping her shoulders and stopping her. She stares at his chest for the longest time, avoiding his eyes and it’s only when she meets them again that he repeats softly and firmly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” She whispers, her stomach twisting.

“Abby-“

“Because I still feel so guilty.” She tells him drawing back and turning away from him, walking on.

He’s quiet for a while after he catches up with her then he tells her gently, “Because you’re human, Abby.” She ducks to avoid some low branches before she looked back at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “You feel guilty because you need someone to blame. You need someone to blame because you’re human. You’re angry. You need someone to take everything out on.” He paused a moment while she struggled with this, trying to process it, trying to dare herself into believing that he could be right, “So does Clarke.” He adds quietly. She meets his eyes again as he continues, “She’s angry, Abby. And she’s upset. She needs someone to take that out on. You’re her mother, she doesn’t hate you.”

“She has every reason to.” She whispers hollowly, “For Jake...And I sent her, I sent her down here, Marcus.” She chokes, gesturing around them, “Marcus, my own, my own daughter, I, I sent her down here to die.”

“To live.” He growls firmly, rounding on her, “You sent her down here to live, Abby. You had hope. You had faith in her. In Earth. And you sent her down here to live. And she did. They all did. And so will we.” She looks up at him and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile as he orders flatly, “Now pull yourself together.”

The tension in her snaps and she releases the breath she hadn’t realised she was trapping in her lungs and a smile spread across her face without her permission. He nodded to her glad that she was calming down a little. He let them walk in silence for a little while before she murmured softly,

“What do you think the chances are that it’s them? That it’s their camp?”

“Good.” He answers simply, expanding when she sighs faintly in frustration, “We’re close.” He says, “And from the maps we’ve seen. Where we landed; where they landed the approximate distance. The chances that it’s not them are slim.”

She nods, taking several deep breaths and looking determinedly ahead of them. Her voice sounds strained as she forces herself to say, “The smoke that we saw from the lake...That wasn’t from a camp fire, was it?”

He hesitates, not wanting to upset her and put her on edge any more than she already is. But he won’t lie to her.

“No.” He said finally. “Most likely not.”

She nodded defiantly, soaking this up with as much dignity as she could manage.

“They’ll be okay, Abby. They’re survivors. They’ve proven that by now.”

She nods again, unable to think of anything to say, not trusting her voice to remain steady either, unable to make eye contact with him.

She had suspected it. Almost from the first moment she had seen the smoke she had suspected that it might not be the answer to her prayers and hopes but the end of everything. But it was recent if nothing else. And that was enough. Enough to give her something to cling to; however faint. Something to keep her fighting.

She’s pulled a little ahead of them now and feels Marcus catch up with her, something clearly on his mind. She turns to look at him, inviting him to explain himself.

“We should go a little more slowly now.” He says hesitantly, as though expecting her to argue. She doesn’t answer, deciding to let him expand a little further before passing judgement, sure that he has a good reason for this caution when she’s so close. “The kids have struggled with attacks by the Grounders down here, we know that. At the very least they’ll have look-outs posted.” He says, “And then there are the Grounders themselves.”

“We don’t want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.” She summarises, agreeing.

She wants to get to the camp. Soon. But she wants to get there in one piece.

They stagger themselves. Spreading out. Since she’s unarmed he pairs with Abby. They move in silence. Tensed. Alert. Guns drawn. They had all run similar drills on the Ark and Abby followed his wordless cues well.

They were close enough to see the outline of a wall when he throws his arm out in front of her, forcing her to stop as a faint metallic click registers with him and his heart stops.

She freezes, though she looks mildly irritated by the gesture.

“Don’t move.” He tells her quietly, keeping his voice low, wanting to keep her as calm as possible.

“Marcus what-“ She begins, her voice taut, clearly having caught something in his tone that’s worried her despite his efforts to keep it neutral.

He crouches down beside her, resting one hand gently on her calf, hoping that the contact will soothe her somewhat. “It’s okay.” He says gently. She opens her mouth and he murmurs softly, “Trust me.”

He motions for the rest of the group to keep back and to keep still. Until he knows exactly what they’re dealing with he wants everyone to stay put.

She’s tense. She knows that something’s wrong. They can all feel it.

He carefully clears away the debris around her feet and feels her muscles contract, “What is it?” She asks her voice shaking though he can tell that she’s fighting to keep it steady.

“A landmine.” He replies, glancing up at her sharp intake of breath, her hand clamping over her mouth, terror flaring in her eyes.

He straightens up, “Hey.” He murmurs firmly, “Look at me.” She does, visibly trembling. “It’s going to be okay, Abby.” He tells her firmly, trying to project more confidence than he’s feeling for her sake.

The use of her name helps a little, snaps her back. She forces a smile and says tautly, “Easy for you to say, you can just run off and leave me here.”

“Would I?” He demands. She raises her eyebrows, shrugging, the effect ruined by the terrified little sound that bursts from her chest as she shakes. “I won’t.” He promises firmly.

“Can you disarm it?” She asks, her voice a little higher than usual.

“If you ask nicely.” He replies lightly.

The corners of her mouth twitched and a short, humourless laugh was forced from her as she choked, “Screw you, Kane.”

She dragged her fingers through her hair, glaring down at him and saying wryly, “I might take my foot off of this thing just to spite you.”

“I wouldn’t advise that.” He smirks, crouching down for a closer look at the devices.

She stares straight ahead of her, taking several deep, panicked breaths.

“You’re doing good, Abby.” He tells her gently, “We’re going to be fine.”

He examines the mine for a few minute then tries to explain to her how it works, knowing that the more information he gives her and the more in control she feels as a result the better she’ll handle this.

“The bomb is a mixture of two halves, one part gun-powder one part hydrazine. By stepping on it you’ve broken the guard separating them. You lift your foot off and it creates a spark that triggers an explosion. Simple. Effective.”

“Marcus.” She breathes tautly. He looks up at her, puzzled, “If you could avoid sounding so impressed with something that could kill me that’d be great.”

He smiles, having the decency to flush, “It’s clearly been improvised in a rush.” He adds, clearing his throat, “It’s nowhere near up to military standards.” He concludes.

“Is that good or bad?” She asks bluntly.

“Both.” He answers simply. Her eyes flash dangerously and he expands hastily, “It’s been quickly put together. It wasn’t designed to trap and kill cleverly but quickly and without distinction. That makes it easier to disarm.” He says, she’s waiting for the flipside and he decides not to sugar-coat it “But it also makes it volatile and unpredictable. Especially with the added hydrazine component. There’s a chance that my trying to disarm it will set it off.”

He watches her process this information then she draws herself up with a deep breath and says finally, “Go.”

“Abby.” He begins, confused.

“Go.” She repeats harshly, her eyes blazing, her hands clenching into stubborn fists. Her voice shakes as she adds roughly, “There’s no sense in us both dying, Marcus.”

“No.” He snaps curtly, “No-one is dying here, Abby, you’re going to be-“

“And if I’m not?” She growls, “If it goes off, then it kills us both.”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you. And I won’t.” He breathes, his voice soft but firm.

“Marcus-“ She begins in frustration.

“That’s not up for debate, Abby.” He growls firmly. “I’m going to get you out of this.”He promises sincerely.

“Or what? We’re both going to die trying?” She demands, her eyes flashing again, clearly trying to push him into a reaction.

“Exactly.” He snarls stubbornly, his tone more brutal than he had intended.

She turns her head away from him, swallowing hard and fighting back angry, terrified tears as she hisses a faint stream of curses into thin air, trying to calm herself down.

He softens and says quietly, “The chances of it going off are slim, Abby.”

“But it’s still a risk.” She presses irritably.

“Yes.” He agrees, “One that’s worth taking to save your life.” He informs her flatly. “Trust me, Abby.” He murmurs gently as she begins to argue again.

She glares at him for a full minute before deflating slightly. She nods reluctantly.

He kneels down again and carefully begins picking the mine apart, trying to keep her calm as he does so.

“Is your med kit in your bag?” he asks her after several minutes of frustrating attempts to manage without any proper tools, an idea striking him.

She nods, “Yeah, front pouch. But I thought you said not to move.” She adds hesitantly.

He grimaces at her, meeting her eyes and she takes a deep breath, “Okay then..”

He stands and walks in a circle around her, one hand lightly brushing her shoulder as he does so, trying to reassure her. He moves as close to her as he can to steady her and keep her still as he reaches for her pack.

Heat pours from her and she trembles beneath him, their bodies inches apart, tense and taut, thin chords stretched to their limits on the brink of snapping, nervous energy sparking between them as he reaches towards her.

He murmurs soothingly to her, noting the rigid outline of her muscles and talks her through everything that he’s going to do before he does it, hoping that if she knows what’s coming she’ll be calmer about it. But she’s a wreck with nerves and he can hardly blame her.

Forcing himself to keep his hands steady, he eases open her pack as gently as he can. Her hands had curled into tight fists clenched at her sides. He murmurs softly to her, acutely aware of how close she is. And of how sweet she smells. His breath plays across the back of her neck, lifting the hairs, making her shiver.

“Okay.” He breathes to her a few seconds later, “Okay, I’ve got it, I’ve got it, we’re good. You did good.”

He can see the relief course through her as she visibly relaxes, allowing herself to breathe again as he moves away to examine the med kit, taking care where he stands.

“That was the easy part, right?” She asks, trying to lighten the mood, the effect ruined by her brittle voice as tension crackles in the air around them, sweat beginning to bead her forehead.

He finds a smile for her. Trying to reassure her. He picks through the kit until he finds a small pair of surgical scissors and some tweezers then bends down to examine the mine once more.

“What did we send them down to, Marcus?” She whispered.

“What do you mean?” he asks, distractedly, glancing up at her, seeing her staring straight ahead of him, looking through their surroundings to something only she can see, looking distressed.

“They have landmines rigged up all around their front door.” She breathes, “That’s a Hell of a welcoming committee.” She trembles and he places a gentle hand just above her knee, desperate to soothe her and keep her steady, but she’s still going on, “We dropped them into a war and made them fight for their lives. Our children. We left our children alone unarmed and undefended in a war-zone. And they, they were so scared that they have lethal explosives outside their-“ Her voice breaks and she closes her eyes, trailing away.

She’s shaking again, struggling to control herself. He reaches up and takes one of the hands by her side, still clenched in a tight, scared fist, and wraps his fingers around it, squeezing gently. She unfurls her fingers and lets them curl around his hand, gripping on to him. He can feel the tension that’s tearing through her nerves spark through him at her touch and he squeezes once more, desperate to reassure her.

“If this is anything to go by they’ve handled it.” He reminds her, nodding towards the mine beneath her foot.

“They shouldn’t have had to.” She tells him sharply, her voice still shaking.

He releases her hand, giving her side a gentle squeeze saying softly, “Everything’s going to be alright, Abby.”

He returns his attention to the mine. She seems to sense his need for quiet and calm and tries to remain as still and silent as possible but he can hear her short, terrified breaths coming in sharp pants above him.

He carefully picks apart the mine, removing the rough piece of metal between the jaws of the device that’s set to spark the volatile mixture beneath it, only breathing once it’s completely removed.

“Okay.” He tells her a few moments later.

“That’s it?” She asks shakily.

He nods. Sure that if that doesn’t work, nothing else will. He’s done everything he can. But he decides not to tell her in those exact words.

“Step forward.” He says.

She takes deep breath. Her hands clench together. She closes her eyes. Lets them open again. They lock with his. And she lifts her foot from the mine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I was a little bit more uncertain about this chapter so any feedback would be great, thanks guys :)


	5. Silent Screams

** Chapter 5 **

Silent Screams

Her heart thunders against her ribs. Blood pounds through her head. The world seems to condense into one moment. Everything stills and stops. Time freezes around her, trapping her in her nightmare. The weight of the world presses down on her as she steps from the mine.

She opens her eyes. Lets herself breathe again. Her lungs expand as air floods through her and she stumbles as everything comes to a head and snaps her back to herself with the violent impact of a car crash.

She finds momentum carrying her forwards, stopping when she finds herself in Marcus’ arms as they close almost instinctively around her, keeping her close to him where he knows she’s safe. He’s shaking beneath her but he’s soft and warm as she clings to him, needing something to anchor herself to, finding herself burrowing into his chest, trembling.

She closes her eyes not caring who’s watching or what else is happening around her. She feels his arms tentatively wrap more tightly around her and hold her a little closer, seeking to comfort her and reassure himself while she quivers against him.

She suddenly becomes overly aware of herself and her situation as he awkwardly releases her. He clears his throat as she lowers her eyes, flushing a little, the intimacy of the moment only coming to them now.

“Are you alright, Abby?” He asked her, his tone gentle even if his voice is a little gruffer than the moment ultimately calls for.

She nods, struggling to find her voice and when she does it’s considerably higher than usual as she chokes out, “Yes. Yes, thank you, Marcus.”

He nods to her, giving her hand a soft squeeze trying to settle her and reassure her, “You’re alright.” He murmurs quietly, almost more to himself than to her, “We’re alright.”

She nods again, still visibly shaken but grimly pulls herself together again, straightening up and gathering her pack once more, trying to restore a little order. He half-heartedly suggests taking a break to give her a chance to settle again. She firmly shoots him down.

She knows it would probably be a good idea. She’s still twitchy and on edge and taking a few minutes to get her bearings again might not go a miss. But adrenaline is still coursing through her system making her heart pound as though determined to force her to accept the fact that she’s still very much alive because that still seems up for debate in her head. But she’s spilling over with raw, nervous energy and the idea of stopping for even a second is unthinkable.

All she wants now after everything they’ve been through in the last few days is to make it to camp and find Clarke.

She’ll rest once she knows that her daughter is safe and in her arms again.

Until then; if she can walk then she’ll walk whatever state she happens to be in otherwise.

Marcus seems to be slowly and reluctantly cottoning on to this mentality because while he grimaces at her and makes it perfectly clear that he’s unhappy with her choice, he says nothing and only stalls her for a moment re-packing the med kit.

They move slowly and cautiously through the gully. A part in fear of triggering more live mines and in another part afraid of being mistaken for an enemy and being caught up in friendly fire. Even though she understands the need for it, it’s still painfully frustrating.

She’s close. She’s so close. She’s been waiting for this for so long. She’s barely slept since they lost all communication with the ground. And she needs her daughter back. She needs to know that she’s safe.

Marcus seems to sense the tension in her; or maybe he’s just afraid that if he strays too far from her again she’ll find a way to get herself into another life-threatening situation that he doesn’t seem anywhere near prepared to handle again. Either way he stays almost offensively close to her the nearer they get to the camp.

She finds that she doesn’t mind. It’s comforting in some strange way. Already his presence by her side has become almost familiar and reassuring. They move slowly around the camp wall searching for a gate. He’s quiet. Tense. On edge since the incident with the mine which she can’t blame him for.  Her hands still haven’t stopped shaking. But it’s more than that. It’s like he’s waiting. Waiting for something else to happen. Some instinct that she doesn’t share making him wary.

His unease is infectious. If his instincts hadn’t triggered him earlier and prevented her from stepping off of that mine she wouldn’t be here to get caught up in them now. And so she keeps her guard up. And she trusts him. The faint sense of caution and fear that he’s instilled in her mixing with the tense anticipation that’s making all of her muscles as taut as thin elastic stretched too far over the blade of a knife and the churning mixture of nerves and excitement that are twisting her stomach into knots.

They catch the edge of a gate and Marcus makes her pause. The group divided in halves clustered together on either side of the gate. She can’t stand it any longer. She takes a step forward. Emboldened by the fact that he makes no attempt to stop her, speeds up.

Her breath freezes, trapped in her chest and her heart stops dead as she catches sight of the camp.

She feels Marcus’ hand on her shoulder, gentle, protective, trying to guide her away to stop her, to help. But for the first time down here she rejects his touch. Rejects his attempts at comfort. Rejects his sorrow on her behalf; his condolences; his _pity_. Rejects everything that her senses are being assaulted by. Because it’s not real. It’s not happening. It can’t be happening. It’s a dream. A nightmare.

 Because god knows it’s a familiar one. The thought of being too late. Of losing her. Of Clarke being dead and gone. Of having no-one. No family. No-one she loves; no-one who loves her left. Is one that stalks her almost every night. One that she’s used to waking up from. But it never seems to hurt this much in dreams.

This dull, solid ache that’s crushing her chest and making it damn near impossible to breathe has always been missing from her nightmares. And that pain and that agony that’s splitting through every inch of her body at the thought of her daughter being dead; the thing that’s destroying her now somehow confirms the reason for her destruction by screaming deafeningly that all of this is real.

She stumbles blindly into the centre of the camp before she manages to stop. Not assessing the scene as a surgeon, ignoring the blood and the chaos spilling over her table and quickly and clearly identifying what’s happened and then what she’s going to do about it.

But as a mother. A mother who has just been devastated by the loss of her only child. Who isn’t a mother anymore. Who isn’t anything anymore. And who can’t stop picturing her daughter’s death over and over again. Unable to stop the images flooding her mind as the blackened bones strike her everywhere she turns. With no way to tell Clarke from any of the others. Unable to banish her daughter’s screams that are echoing through her mind as she surveys the ruin of the place her daughter had called home down here.

Unable to process what’s happening to her because adrenaline is still pulsing through excited, anxious veins while her stomach twists in disbelief and her hands curl into furious fists because none of this is fair and grief-filled tears sting her eyes and denial grips her legs as they forget how to keep her strong and standing and it’s only Marcus’ arm darting around her waist as she begins to fall that keeps her on her feet.

Her heartbeat mocks her as it thunders in her chest without a cause anymore. Everything she had. Everything she had left to fight for in this world had been here. And now it was gone.

She turns. Without knowing what she’s turning to knowing only that it’s away. Away from this. Because she can’t take another second of it. Someone calls her name behind her. Marcus she thinks. She ignores him. She knows it’s Marcus who steps in front of her and places his hands on her shoulders and tries to make her stop.

She wrenches free of him as though burned by his touch, snarling and spitting at him in her fury. He backs away. And leaves her alone. Unchallenged. As she flees from the camp, from the present from her future from the reality that’s trying so hard to set in.

Because she can’t. She can’t. It’s too much. She sinks to her knees. It’s all too much. She’s still shaken from the mine. Still nervous and excited and soaked in anticipation at the thought of seeing Clarke. Still buoyed by the memories of her. Yet horror rips through her. Denial. And pain. Unbearable pain. And raw, howling shock. And grief. Draining, smothering, overwhelming grief burst from her as well.

And one person was never made to feel so much at once. One soul was never meant to bear so much weight. One body never built to handle so much strain. And she doubles over, numb with agony, a silent scream tearing through her throat. Her sides heave, her ribs ache, her lungs cry out in protest as she gasps in air, her eyes streaming, everything threatening to tear her apart.

And then nothing. As though someone’s flicked a switch to shut her down before she implodes. There is nothing. A violent cacophony reduced to silence.

_She feels empty. She’s run out of things to feel. Used up all of her tears already just to get to sleep._

_It’s later. Or it’s early. She doesn’t know which. She doesn’t care. She had woken a few minutes earlier. A nightmare that she’s already forgotten had dragged her from sleep once more. She had turned over automatically to embrace Jake. To nestle in closer to his warmth and feel his arms curl around her and tug her to him and make everything okay again._

_But her arms have closed around nothing again._

_She’s lost count of the number of times she’s done that tonight alone. She’s still sleeping on her side of the bed. Her back to the hollow space beside her. As though if she ignores it and denies it enough somehow he’ll come back to her._

_It hasn’t worked yet._

_She knows it won’t. But everything happened so quickly and got so out of control that she’s still struggling to process it all._

_She closes her eyes, burying herself in his pillow, trembling. It still smells like him and it’s strangely comforting. As though it’s possible for her to trick herself into believing that he’s still here if even for a moment before reality hits her again and her grief doubles and she pushes herself from the bed, gasping and shaking._

_She pads into the middle of the room, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears stinging at her eyes. She turns and her eyes light on Clarke’s empty bunk and it all becomes too much. And she can’t do this. She can’t. Her hands are gripping on to the back of the chair in front of her so hard that she’s beginning to lose feeling in her fingers._

_She’s shaking and she can’t breathe. And she has no idea how the Hell she’s supposed to do any of this. She’s due back in medical in a few hours. They’re expecting her to do a job. To be a doctor. To forget that she was a widow and a mother who had lost everything in the space of a few short hours._

_There was no room for grief or guilt on the Ark. She took several deep breaths, the argument she’d had with Jake a few hours before his death coming back to her now. ‘_ For Clarke. Do it for Clarke’.

_She had to think of her daughter. She had to keep going for her sake. For Clarke...For Clarke._

She’s beyond tears. Beyond tearing at her hair. Beyond screaming her agony into the quiet if only to fill it with something. Because this world has taken her daughter from her, her little girl, and it should care. It should be made to care. It should be made to suffer her pain and her grief.  

He watches her leave the camp feeling hopeless. She needs a moment or two to herself and the least he can do is give her that.

He’ll check up on her in a few minutes. There are things to be done first.

He orders his men to search the camp and the surrounding area as well as the drop ship for any survivors. Though he knows the chances are slim, it feels wrong not to try. For Abby’s sake if nothing else.

The group around him disperses quickly and leaves him alone in the middle of camp, surveying the disaster that had engulfed it. Charred bones litter the ground at his feet and there’s no comfort at all to be taken in the idea that it may at least have been quick.

He examines the scene for a few more minutes taking things in his stomach twisting as he processes what he’s seeing and wonders if he could possibly be right.

He decides on impulse. Then goes to find Abby.

She’s not gone far from the camp. But she already looks like she’s in a bad way. Which isn’t surprising. He approaches cautiously, not wanting to intrude or upset her further but not wanting to leave her out here alone if he can avoid it.

He pauses a few from her, waiting for her permission to stay.

Footsteps behind her alert her to his appearance. She’d been waiting for him since she’d come back to herself enough to find coherent thoughts slowly beginning to form in her mind again. It’s not in his nature to leave her out here alone and vulnerable. And it’s not in her nature to _be_ vulnerable to have to every weakness so raw and clearly on show for the world to see.

But he knows her too well for her to hope to hide any of this and convince him that she’s okay. That all she needs is a minute. And then she’ll bounce back like she always does. Because she doesn’t think that she can. Not this time. This is too far. This is too much.  She can only handle losing so much and Clarke was everything that she had left. And now...She can’t convince him that she’s okay. Or even that she’s going to be okay. Because she’s not. And she won’t lie to him. And she’s never been one to lie to herself about her limits.

She can’t do this on her own. Not again.

At least this time she may not have to. And that’s all that’s keeping her going right now.  

She feels him hesitate behind her, uncertainty filling the air between them as he hovers, not sure what she wants and what she needs from him. She turns to look at him.

Her eyes haunt him when she turns to meet his gaze. Full of the grief and the pain that she’s bottled up and hidden away and kept controlled for so long that she’s making no effort to conceal from him now; but somehow empty at the same time, hollowed out by everything and everyone she’s lost in such a short space of time.

“Abby.” He murmurs tenderly, his voice quiet and as unobtrusive as he can make it. A soft extension of help of support if she wants to take it.

She trembles as their eyes meet, crumpling in on herself as the weight of what’s happened threatens to crush her. Her lungs seeming to cave in on themselves and before she’s sure what’s happening she can’t breathe.

He rushes to her side, crouching down beside her and instinctively wrapping his arms around her, supporting her. Just as well. She feels herself collapsing against him whatever barriers she’d somehow managed to maintain before crumbling away to nothing in the wake of her distress.

Her fingers curl urgently around the familiar leather jacket that cloaks him trying to anchor herself to something as she feels everything slipping away from her.

But he’s steady and solid beneath her and he holds her close to him and lets her cling to him, lets her fingers dig into him as she desperately tries to steady herself and finds him doing the best he can to help her.

She has the vague awareness of his voice vibrating through her body as he murmurs to her, telling her that it’s okay, that it’s okay, it’s going to be okay before something finally snaps inside her. Her grief utterly overwhelms her and everything around her drains away because nothing else matters.

Tears flood from her eyes and her body shakes and convulses wracked by the rough sobs that are continually torn from her. She struggles to breathe as her throat constricts and her lungs barely have time to snatch and beg for air between her raw cries.

Marcus holds her firmly in his arms absorbing as much of her break down as he can. He continues to murmur softly to her doing his best to soothe her despite the fact that most of his words don’t even reach her, falling on her deaf ears, incoherent and indistinguishable from anything else but his tone is soft and calming and under different circumstances it may have helped.

 His hand gently rubs in a steady rhythm up and down her back encouraging the shuddering gasps of oxygen her lungs claw at between sobs. Her ribs ache and burn but she barely feels it on top of everything else. Marcus’ arms shift slightly around her, pulling her in closer and holding her more tightly and she finds herself burying into his chest and shattering while he cradles her helplessly to him.

It’s as though the faint shreds of shock and denial that were somehow protecting her up to now have been stripped away leaving her explode and vulnerable to the raw agony that flares from her untamed grief. It consumes her. Taking root in her body and tearing her apart from the inside out leaving nothing of her but her pain, her soul burning up within her bones and hollowing her out entirely.

Anger interrupts her misery without warning flashing within in her like lightning through heavy thunderous black skies. Her hands ball into fists, pounding desperately and savagely against his chest as though all of this is his fault as she whispers furiously, “No.” Her voice rises in a harsh howl as she repeats, “No. No, no, no.”

He catches her wrists between his hands, pressing her close to him and preventing her from blindly lashing out at him again, cradling her to him and trying to calm her down as she gasps over and over again, her tears beginning to try into her skin in rough stains, “It’s not fair.” She chokes, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fair.”

Silent tears course down her cheeks as a horrible, draining sensation of numbness begins to seep through her and she clings to him as tremors whisper through her body and she shakes uncontrollably in his arms.

“I know.” He soothes gently, slowly rocking her back and forth, realising that it seems to be settling her somewhat, “I know, Abby, I know.” He murmurs to her, desperately trying to soothe her and doing everything he can think of that might help her.

She huddles against him, gripping on to him like he’s the only thing left that makes sense to her. And in a way he is. He’s familiar. And he’s here for her. And he’s holding her. And he’s giving her something to hold on to when she needs it.

It takes her a long time to calm herself down despite Marcus’ influence. Her throat is raw and rough. She tries to croak out a hoarse apology that he brushes away before she’s even half way through it.

She’s still using him to steady herself, not trusting her body to support her yet. She closes her eyes, a shiver running through her before she confesses in a strangled, broken whisper, “I can’t.” She breaks off, shuddering before forcing herself to say, “I can’t do this, Marcus.”

He looks down at her, temporarily stunned into speechlessness at her words. He’s never seen her this vulnerable before. Not even after Jake’s death when she had mistrusted the people who she’d considered to be her closest friends and had been left to grieve for him alone without Clarke.

And immediately following that thought he understand. And it all made sense to him. Everything she had done, everything she had put herself through, everything that she had forced herself to survive and struggle through since Jake’s death; it had all been for Clarke.

And now she was gone and she had no reason to be stronger than one person should ever have been made to be. Now she could be vulnerable. Now she could go to pieces. Now she could break down. Now she could finally let the things that she had boxed up and hidden away for her daughter’s sake flood her and tear her apart the way they had been wanting to do for months. Because Clarke wasn’t here to force her to keep it hidden.

“Abby.” He murmurs firmly, “Look at me.” He growls softly, “Look at me, Abby.” His voice was gentler than she’d ever heard it, his arms still steadily supporting her.

She raised her eyes to meet his. There was nothing that he could say; nothing that he could do or promise or insist that could possibly make any of this more bearable. But she felt like she owed it to him to at least let him try. Let him say his piece and have a moment where he believed that all wounds could somehow heal. When she knew better. When she had been forced to come to terms with that fact a long time ago.  

“It’ll be okay, Abby.” He begins softly.

And her promises to herself about letting him say what he felt he needed to say. Suffering them and stomaching them and letting him get through them all crumble around her.

She closes her eyes. Her body shakes violently. And she jerks away from him as though his touch repulses her. He withdraws slightly, startled into silence. She hunches away from him, wrapping her arms around her knees and dragging them up to her chest, curling in on herself, her back to him as she manages to choke out roughly, “No.”

She hears him urgently call her name but somehow she’s already on her feet and staggering away from him, uncoiling herself, suddenly unable to sit here a second longer, energy crackling through her nerves and taking over her.

Because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to hear how he’s going to make this all okay. About how he could fix everything. How they could put everything back together and find something to build up out of the ashes. She doesn’t want to know about their next step. Or about how they get over this and gather themselves and move on because they have to. Because they always do. Because they’re survivors and they’ll survive this like everything else.

She can’t handle any of it.

He grabs her shoulders and gives her a little shake, looking mildly panicked. “Abby, Abby listen to me, listen to me.” He says, fear and desperation running through his tone in equal measures.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her hands curling into fists and slamming against his chest again, trying to push him away, not meeting his eyes as she trembles.

“Listen-“ He breathes with gentle urgency.

“No, stop it, Marcus!” She snarls, trying to wrench herself free of him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be alone with her grief.

“It’s okay.” He tells her loudly, trying to break through the walls she’s rapidly building up against him and get through to her, “It’s okay, I-“

“It’s not okay!” She shouts at him, shoving him harshly away from her, stunning him momentarily into swallowing whatever words he was about to try and feed her, and her grief instantly uses the opportunity of silence, filling it, “Nothing is ‘okay’ Marcus.” She howls at him, fresh tears springing to her eyes without her consent, “My daughter is dead.” She screams at him.

And it hits her. When she thought she knew. When she thought she was beginning to accept what was going on. When she was sure she had deluded herself into understanding. It hits her like a bomb exploding against her chest and knocks whatever semblance of fight and life had seemed to flare for a second out of her.

Her mouth opens but no words make it past her taut lips. She just chokes at the air as the emotion constricting her throat makes it impossible to speak or even to breathe for a moment. She sways alarmingly on the spot, mouthing blindly and emptily at their surroundings.

“My daughter is dead, Marcus.” She whispers hollowly, swaying more violently and he automatically reaches out to stop her from falling. “She’s gone.” She breathes, “She’s gone, Marcus. She, I, I let her down. I sent her down here. I thought she’d be safe. I thought it was her only chance. I thought...I thought... I failed. I failed her, I, it was me, it was, I-“

“No, Abby.” He murmurs sadly.

“I let her die.” She breathes shakily, “She’s dead, she’s-“

“She might not be, Abby.” He breaks in firmly but quietly.

She turns to stare up at him, her throat dry, shock shuddering at her core, because surely he wouldn’t be so cruel. Surely he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.

“What are you talking about?” She demands faintly, putting as much fire into the words as she can.

“I took around the camp.” He explains quickly, seizing the brief window that she’s given him to talk her round, “I don’t think the kids got caught in the explosion.” He says urgently, “I think they caused it.”

“What are you getting at, Marcus?” She asks slowly, her voice strengthening slightly, her emotions seeming to freeze inside her, waiting, paused, balanced on a knife edge to see where he goes with this.

“The blast came from the drop ship.” He answers calmly, “Most likely from igniting the hydrazine stores in the base.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “They triggered the explosion Abby. From _inside_ the ship.”

She understands what he’s getting at immediately. And what he’s trying to tell her, what he’s been so desperately trying to tell her all slots into place at once.

“You think they’re still alive?” She breathes, her eyes widening. “You think Clarke...”

“Yes.” He says quietly, daring to let a rare half-smile flicker across his face for  a moment. “What?” He asks, almost defensively, concern in his tone as she deflates against him, her elation flooding away as quickly as it had come, the fingers that she had hooked desperately around his jacket slackening and falling away as she whispers flatly,

“Then where are they, Marcus?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this fic! This chapter was quite a big one and tough to write in places so thoughts on it would be great.


	6. Hope

** Chapter 6 **

Hope

He wakes early. His body beginning to take the routine he was imposing it down here. He glanced around the tent, unsettled but unsurprised as he noted that, once again, Abby was conspicuous only by her absence.

They had returned from the ruins of the 100’s camp three days ago and he had barely seen her at all in that time. In truth he’s worried about her. And while he suspects that she’ll be less than responsive  to his efforts, he resolves to try and make yet another attempt to talk to her about it today and make sure she’s doing alright.

Though he knows she’s not. But him knowing and her admitting to this have proven to be two very different things over the last few days. He closes his eyes and massages his temples. Whatever happens with her it’ll have to happen later.

He has no idea where she is and he has patrols to run this morning. He dresses quickly then steps outside. The air is still cool and the camp is still and quiet.  He takes up a position at the low foundations of a wall that is being established around their perimeter. He relieves his grateful predecessor then takes a moment to glance around the camp.

It’s beginning to take shape now. People have found niches to exist in and help run things; cooking and rationing; others have taken groups out of camp to forage in the local area. The soil is rick and fertile and already there is excited talk of establishing farms and gardens to grow what they need. People have begun to find their hope again.

Abby and Jackson find that medical has been inundated with various herbs and fungi to replace the limited stocks of drugs that they’d brought down with them from the Ark. The Guard have already implemented his training regime, getting people used to using guns and defending themselves as well as responding to simple military cues.

He knows from the outside the action looks like a preparation for a war or a fight but he doesn’t share Abby’s conviction that making peace down here will be so easy. He’ll try, of course, he’ll do whatever it takes to secure that peace, but if it’s impossible he’d rather that they’re ready.

Sinclair worked wonders assembling and organising a group to return to the station and salvage what they could. The light, cramped tents have already begun to be replaced by larger, sturdier shelters.

Medical has almost trebled in size since its inception at their arrival and has given Abby, Jackson and their little group of volunteers more room to work and the ability to section off the area and properly sterilise certain parts as well as providing the facilities needed to store their equipment and drugs and keep them secure.

Command has been enlarged and fortified as well and they’ve put a rough system in place to start nominating and voting for new members of a council. Neither he nor Abby intends to allow them to slip into a dictatorship; however well-meaning it might be. Sinclair also managed to set-up a small communications centre towards the back of the camp consisting of a server to collect together and strengthen any radio signals that they could pick up along with a small group of people Sinclair had hand-picked to help him try and build portable radios to allow them to communicate with each other.

Overall he’s pleased. Things are beginning to come together and he’s proud of what their people have managed to achieve in such a short space of time. He quietly scans the camp, pausing as his eyes rest on Abby again.

His heart sinks as he sees her. She’s pale and gaunt, drawn and she looks exhausted, he has no idea how she’s still standing. She had thrown herself into her work after they had come back from the 100’s camp. She’s been working around the clock, pushing herself to the point of exhaustion in the process.

She’s trying to distract herself. And he can’t blame her. But he knows she’s barely been eating or sleeping. It’s been a case of her putting everyone else’s needs before her own. There’s nothing new there, really. She was the same on the Ark. Her instincts drive her to look after everyone. Everyone but herself.

But he feels like there’s more to this. If she deals with everyone else’s problems, then she can avoid her own. And it’s tearing her apart.

She’s self-destructing on them. And anyone who cares enough can see it. It’s understandable given what she’s going through and what she’s lost but if this doesn’t stop soon they’ll lose her too. She can’t keep this up much longer. Something has to give. And her body will go before her grief or her stubbornness he’s sure of that.

He makes a decision on impulse, glancing around for a temporary replacement to relieve him for a few minutes, intending to try and talk some sense into her and make her take a break before she works herself to death.

Before he can summon the young officer who’s just passed him however, she prevents the necessity of his actions by marching purposefully towards him.

Or, more accurately, it transpires a few moments later, towards the gate behind him, making to stride past him without so much as blinking.

“Abby.” He murmurs gently.

This stalls her long enough to allow him to slide smoothly in front of her, blocking her path. She pauses a moment, evidently to allow him to explain his sudden intervention but he says nothing, choosing to let her make the first move.

She crosses her arms defensively across her chest, her eyes flashing dangerously as she demands in clipped tones, “What do you want, Kane?”

He notes the short, curt use of his surname without comment but it feels as though their relationship has somehow jumped back several months without his knowledge or consent.

“I just want to talk, Abby.” He tells her quietly, trying to get them back on even, familiar ground.

“I can’t.” She replies tautly. She’s shaking slightly, and she won’t meet his eyes, “I’m busy.” She says shortly and tries to step around him but he anticipates her movements and swiftly cuts her off again.

She growls in frustration and turns to glare up at him, her eyes hollow, heavy dark circles framing them. She’s pale and she looks ill this close.

 He’s worried about her. Worried that she could let herself get into this state. And worried because he has no idea what he can do about it or what she’ll let him do for her.

“We need to talk about this, Abby.”  He tells her, his voice still quiet but firm.

“No.” She says flatly, avoiding his eyes, “We don’t.” She pushes past him and he closes his eyes in frustration, almost just letting her go.

But he can’t. He catches her arm and stops her, changing tact and demanding curtly, “Where are you going?”

“Let go of me, Marcus.” She snarls in answer, trying to wrench herself free of him, her eyes flashing, daring at him with something like hatred twisting in her that he can’t stand. He cautiously releases her. She gathers herself together then informs him with forced civility, “We need more supplies for medical.”

He shakes his head, “We have enough-“ He begins, intending to tell her that they have more than enough to stop her risking her neck before but she irritably cuts across him before he has the chance to finish.

“Obviously not or I wouldn’t be going out, Kane.” She snaps.

He bristles at that, his own temper beginning to flare, “No. You’re not. Not alone.” He tells her roughly.

She rounds on him, glaring, “I don’t need one of your babysitters.” She snaps

“No-one goes out alone, Abby. You know the protocol, you agreed it with me.” He reminds her flatly, knowing that she’s going to make this difficult, but after the incident with the landmine the other day, he’s not sure he’s up to handling her involvement in any more life-threatening situations.

She takes a deep breath, changing tact and trying calmly, “I’m not going far and I won’t be long. I’ll be fine.”

He considers this for a moment then shakes his head. The last thing he trusts right now is that she’ll be fine.

“I’d be happier if someone went with you, Abby-“ He begins evenly.

She silences him by taking several steps towards him until they’re only inches apart before whispering urgently, “Marcus, please.”

“Abby?” He breathes, worried now.

“I just need to get out of camp for a little while, okay?” She appeals, “I just, I just need a little time to myself after...After everything that’s happened.”

He closes his eyes, understanding and softening slightly. But the fact of the matter remains that if she meets someone outside of the camp, they won’t be sensitive to her loss or her grief, they’ll just kill her. Or take her and torture her and he can’t let that happen, he won’t.

“I’m sorry, Abby.” He says gently, “I understand, but it’s just too dangerous.” He tells her, a sudden thought striking him and he adds impulsively, “I’ll go with you.” He offers gently, “Just me.”

She pauses for a moment and he thinks he’s finally managed to get through her then she shakes her head and spits furiously at him, “I don’t need your protection.” She snarls, “And I sure as Hell don’t need your permission.”

She roughly pushes past him again but despite the sting in her words he still can’t let it drop, “Abby, it’s not safe, you-“ He tries valiantly.

She tears herself away from him, “I can look after myself.” She growls fiercely at him, “I’ve gotten good at that since Jake died.” She hurls at him, taking a deep breath and trying to control herself before she says, voice shaking, “The last person I want to see right now is you, Marcus.” She snaps, turning and storming away from him.

He drags his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes and indulging himself in a string of harsh curses before he turns and marches irritably back into camp, letting her go at last.

He knows he could regret that decision later; he knows that he probably will but he’s spent long enough arguing with this woman to keep fighting a battle he’d lost before he even reached it.

He’ll have the guards on the gates watch for her and find him as soon as she gets back and he’ll go looking for her if she’s gone too long.

Beyond that...He sighs, running his fingers through his hair again in frustration. He shouldn’t be surprised by this, really. She’s been getting more and more reckless with every day that’s gone by since they left the ruins of the 100’s camp .

Leaving camp alone without even telling anyone where she’s going, never mind taking someone with her to watch her back. Leaving for extended periods of time; always alone. Straying further and further from the safe little sphere around the thick wall that’s begun to be put in place.

It’s been fraying his nerves for a couple of days now. He knows that she’s struggling to process Clarke on top of everything else that’s happened; and he can’t really blame her for that, she’s just trying to make it through this any way she can, he understands that.

But he’s getting worried about her. He had hoped that if he gave her some space for a few days that her recklessness and apparent disregard for her own personal safety would slowly burn itself out. He was wrong.

 He doesn’t expect her to stop grieving for the daughter she believes she’s lost but he had hoped that she would have come back to herself a little and stopped taking risks that sooner or later she won’t be able to afford anymore.

He sighs in frustration. He’s not sure how to help her, how to talk to her anymore, even. But something has to give or he’s going to lose her. And he would give out on whatever it was that she wanted him to give out on if he had any idea what the Hell that might be.

But he doesn’t. In this, the same as a lot of things that concern Abby Griffin, is a mystery to him.

He tries to look at this from her perspective; to try and understand even a fraction o what she’s going through and how she’s dealing with this.

Badly is the first, unhelpful, answer that springs to mind and he suspects that it might be too harsh considering. She’s mourning in her own time and in her own way, as she does most things.

Though he can’t help but wonder if she is. Or if she’s blocking everything out. And this is just a manifestation of her attempts to deny what’s happening and distract herself from them.

He can’t blame her if she is. She’s been dragged in and out of grieving for her daughter and trying to process the fact that she might be gone already. Going through that again and again with the agonizing possibility that she might not be dead...He can’t blame her for being overwhelmed by it all. And on top of Jake as well, which he knows damn well she’s still not quite come to terms with.

He still doesn’t know where he stands on the fate of the kids they sent down here. All he knows is that their priority needs to be the survivors they have here with them. He’ll act on new information about the 100 as he gets it. For now though, his purpose is keeping these people alive and as in order as he can.

He needs her to find her purpose down here too. For so long it’s been Clarke. The hope and disappointment in an all-consuming prayer is more painful in his eyes than having none at all. If she can find hope again, she’s stronger than he could ever be.

He suspects that she just might be. But even so, t this rate, she’s going to get herself killed before she finds anything to live for again.

He closes his eyes and tries to drag his mind away from her. He still has two hours of patrol left and he doesn’t intend to spend them all brooding over Abby Griffin. Though he inevitably does.

He’s interrupted toward the end when a young officer jogs up to him, tugging him out of his reverie.

“Sir.” He pants tensely, looking none too pleased about what he has to say, “It’s Doctor Griffin.”

His heart falters in his chest.

“What?” He demands sharply, panic flooding through him like ice water, “What’s happened? Is she okay?” He asks.

The young man opposite him nods quickly, “Yes, sir, she’s alright but...”

He listens as the other man hastily explains what’s happened. His face darkens with every word he hears.

“Where is she?” He growls finally, fury rising.

He’s timidly pointed towards medical and strides off, barking brief instructions at the officer to stay and cover his patrol as he marches off to find Abby. Seething, fear and anger conspiring together in such a way that left him feeling uncertain as to whether or not he was going to kiss her or kill her on sight.

*****

She refuses to look back as she walks away from him. She closes her eyes once she reaches the little clearing she’s been looking for. Someone had mentioned it to her while dropping off some more medicinal plants for their stories and she’d been meaning to come out here and investigate it for herself ever since.

And she’d been desperate to get out of camp today. To get away from the permanent press of bodies around her and the constant, heavy, pregnant stares. As though her grief was a source of spectacle and entertainment down here. She’d had to escape. And spending the afternoon dwelling on different herbs and their uses had seemed like an inviting prospect by comparison.

Now though, all she’s actually dwelling on is Marcus.

She rubs her temples, grimacing. She shouldn’t have said all of those things to him. And she certainly shouldn’t have dragged Jake into it; that had been a particularly sore point between them for a while now. And she’d been angry and upset but even so...

She’ll find him and apologise later. She senses that this is going to become a recurring theme with the pair of them down here, constant fights and apologies. Though at least they’re trying to make things work down here.

She sighs, deciding that there’s nothing she can do about her fight with Marcus now, she’ll just have to fix that later and try and focus on something else now. Her head has other ideas however and drags her thoughts back to the only thing that’s occupied it for days now; Clarke.

The things Marcus told her about the camp, about the drop ship, the source of the explosion echo endlessly around in her head. They’re the reason she can’t sleep at night, the reason she can barely focus on anything but that and the implications of it.

She should be clinging to it. She should be overjoyed by it. Marcus had found what she always tried to keep hold of; hope. When she had abandoned it all he should have been here salvation; his words something for her to fight for.

But all she was conflict and confusion. Not hope or salvation or a reason to fight, to survive. That had opened her mind up to a whole string of bad decisions in the last few days. The aftermath of the landmine still rattled through her. But instead of forcing caution and concern it had inspired a new breed of recklessness in her.

The near death experience had pushed her limits of what she could and could not survive beyond what anyone else could term as acceptable. She had survived a bomb. She had triggered a live mine and walked away with a scratch. Now all that was left to do was to test and see what she could make it through and what she wouldn’t.

And there was also the question of whether or not it mattered either way. Without Clarke she was running out of reasons to be careful and to keep herself safe without Jake or Clarke....

It was a concept she still couldn’t process. It undid everything that she was, stripped away everything that she had and left her empty and blank. A canvas with nothing but the scars of the images that had adorned it and had made it.

She was still a mother. She still felt like a mother. But she had no child.

Though Marcus would have her believe that she did. She didn’t know what she believed anymore. She was tired. Tired of having faith for the sole reason of having it tested. Tired of having hope only to be given nothing but reasons to doubt it. Tired of having to be stronger than everyone else; to burn brighter and hotter than them and everything else just to stop herself from being burnt out; of breathing air that poisoned her and choked her just to survive.

She had lost too much that she had tried to save. That desperate cry to spare her husband had led to his execution; the plan to send her daughter to the ground had led to her death. Her hope had bought her nothing but pain. And she couldn’t do it anymore. On the Ark, when the signal in Clarke’s wristband had gone out everything that had happened to her in the last few days, everything she gone through had torn through her in minutes.

But she had fought back, she had clawed on to her hope; she had rallied and regrouped and told herself that it didn’t mean anything. That was the last time she had believed her daughter to be dead. Last time all she had had to prove that was a wristband signal transmitted from thousands of miles away.

This time she had a ruined camp and charred corpses to bear witness. Last time she had been willing to risk a drop in a one hundred and thirty year old escape pod to find out if Clarke was still alive. This time she risked her neck straying from camp alone because an arrow in her chest looked like the best way to find Clarke right now...

She would have given everything she had and more for it to be true, for Marcus to be right. But if it wasn’t if she really was gone this time...

She couldn’t go through that again; build herself up to be broken down in the worst way possible. But could she give up entirely? On her daughter? On Clarke? On everything she had left? Could she really let her go because she couldn’t stand losing her again?

She didn’t know.

She tugs at the ring around her neck; Jake’s ring. It’s become a habit, a source of comfort since his death. If he were here with her she would never give up; she would go to the ends of this Earth to find her, but alone?

She can’t...

Footsteps behind her drag her from her reverie.

“Marcus?” She chances, getting to her feet.

But it’s not him. She knows the sound of his footsteps by now and he would have announced himself by now. Whoever this is means to surprise her. And they’re coming from the wrong direction to be from their camp, she realises that now.

She loosens Marcus’ knife in her belt, her hand closing, tightly around the hilt.

She turns, drawing the blade in one fluid motion to face her would be attacker.

“Who are you?” She demands coarsely, knife raised, her eyes fixed on the person who’s just stepped out into the clearing opposite her.

“Abby!” She turns to see Marcus striding towards her, fire and fury in his eyes.

She can’t remember ever seen him look as angry or as dangerous as he does now, marching towards her and firmly pinning her in his crosshairs. She resists the urge to take several steps back as he draws nearer, defiantly standing her ground against him.

She has no idea how he found out so quickly but there’s only one thing that could have inspired this rage in him.

He stops inches from her, his eyes flashing, locking with hers as she faces him stubbornly. She drops her gaze a second later as she realises that while furious anger might be coursing through him, the overwhelming emotion she finds twisting in the depths of his eyes is fear and that causes guilt to stab through her in an instant, weakening her defiant resolve somewhat.

He waits a second, his jaw working, struggling to keep himself in check, finally, he grabs her arm and snarls, “Come with me.”

She has half a mind to wrench herself free but she’s acutely aware of both the rapt crowd that they’ve drawn around them and that he’s barely containing a tirade that will no doubt result in fireworks that she has no desire to have an audience for.

So she allows him to half-lead, half-drag her out of camp and way from prying eyes and ears.

He shoves her away from him with a little more force than necessary once they’re clear of camp, seething. She turns back, snarling, ready to snap at him but before she can he startles her with his first, rough question,

“Are you alright, Abby?” He demands harshly.

“Yes.” She replies hastily, thrown, “Yes, I’m, I’m fine.” She had expected him to yell at her, to rant and rave and curse her and growl that she should have listened to him; that she should never have gone off on her own. She had not expected the first thing out of his mouth to be quiet concern for her wellbeing.

“Are you sure?” He presses urgently.

“I, Marcus, I’m fine.” She tells him in mild exasperation, raising her arms out to the sides to allow him to examine her.

His eyes rake over her, searching for some unseen injury or sign that she had been hurt. Eventually satisfied, he pitches away from her, dragging his fingers through his hair, rounding on her and snarling in a low voice,

“What the Hell were you thinking?” he doesn’t give her time to answer before he growls, “How could you have been so stupid, Abby?”

“I am fine.” She snaps at him, her own temper flaring to match his, “I handled it.”

“There should never have been anything to handle.” He shoots back, “If you had listened to me in the first place-“ She turns away from him, shaking her head in exasperation, “You could have died today, Abby.” He reminds her curtly, “This is serious, I- _We_ could have lost you.”

“Nothing happened, Marcus.” She shouts at him in frustration at his overreaction.

“Despite your intentions.” He mutters darkly under his breath.

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” She hisses dangerously, eyes narrowed.

“That this isn’t exactly an isolated incident, is it?” he spits back at her, “This has been going on since we got back from that camp.” He growls, taking several steps towards her, closing the distance between them, drawn back into her as the tension sparks between them again, moving almost offensively close and almost certainly in to her personal space as he snaps, “You’ve been reckless and stupid, slipping out of camp on your own, it hasn’t gone unnoticed, Abby. You’re going to get yourself killed.” He snarls at her, “And I can’t remember the last time you slept or did anything to take care of yourself.” He sighs, shaking his head, his eyes closing in despair, “This has to stop, Abby.” He says finally, “You have to-“

“I have to what, Marcus?” She demands, her voice slightly higher and frailer than usual, hysteria rising in it as she steps towards him, forcing him to move back to avoid their bodies crashing together as she does so, “I have to get over this and act like nothing happened because my grieving inconveniences you?? Is that it?” She demands harshly, “I should just forget what we saw because it’ll make your life easier? I just have to move on like that because we can’t afford me struggling to deal with this right now? Because I can’t fall apart right now? Well then you tell me, Marcus, you tell me when the Hell I can break down if not now; if not because of this?”

 Her voice has risen in pitch and strength with every word until she’s practically screaming at him. Angry tears sting at her eyes and she feels them choking the back of her throat.

“I lost my daughter.” She reminds him fiercely, pushing him away as he tries to move in closer to her, seeking to calm or to comfort she’s not sure.

“You don’t know that, Abby.” He tries to tell her urgently, “On the Ark you were so sure. You had so much faith in her. In them. In the kids we sent down here. You insisted that they were alive. You were sure that they were alive. And you were right. You-“

“I can’t do that again.” She whispers hoarsely, shaking her head. The dramatic change in her voice stalls him for a moment and it’s a good thing too because now that she’s finally started talking about this, now that she’s finally let herself open up and let someone in, she can’t stop.

“I can’t go through that again, Marcus. I just can’t.” She chokes, “Everything I did. Every decision I made. Every day that I kept going after Jake died it was for her. It was for Clarke.” She whispers, “She was the only thing that kept me going sometimes, that made me keep fighting.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head before she whispers hopelessly, “And it finally happened. I finally made it down here to the ground and she’s, she’s gone. We, we were too late.”

She takes several deep, calming breaths that suck and stick and rattle in her chest before she manages to choke out, “We’re too late. And she’s gone. And I can’t. I can’t convince myself that she’s not. But if she is, and I, I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t be strong anymore. I am so, I am so tired, Marcus. I’m beyond tired; I’m exhausted. I can’t keep going like this. It’s too much, it’s too much, I, please...I can’t, please.”

She trails off, tears flooding from her eyes as she finally breaks down in his arms, his body quickly shifting to support hers, his arms looping around her waist instinctively as she sways unsteadily on the spot.

“This isn’t fair, Abby.” He murmurs once she’s calmed down enough to hear him, “You’re asking too much of yourself too soon.” He tells her softly, gently rubbing her back to try and soothe her, “We don’t know what happened to the kids, and until we do, until we know for sure, and we will, there’s no point in torturing yourself like this. We’ll find her.” He promises, so sincerely that she almost believes him, “We’ll find her. And until then..Take each day as it comes. Do what you can for the people that are here now.” He advises, adding firmly, “Once you look after yourself. Go  and get something to eat and then get some rest.”

“NO, no, I can’t.” She says, wildly, “We still have things that need to be done for tomorrow, I have to-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He cuts across her evenly, his voice gentle and soothing.

“No, that’s not fair, there’s too much to do and you’re exhausted as well, Marcus.” She argues flatly.

“I’ll take care of it.” He repeats firmly, “You just take care of yourself.”

“But-“ She begins hopelessly, trying to protest.

“Please.” He adds quietly, his eyes darting up to meet hers as he says, “I need you too, Abby.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, as always, feedback makes me very happy. I might not make next week's update, Uni's been mad and I've had a lot on my plate and not a lot of time to write this beastie; I'll do what I can and I'm definitely, definitely still working on this, but coursework unfortunately has to come first!


	7. Between The Lines

** Chapter 7 **

Between The Lines

“Tell me again, Abby.” He requests tautly, rechecking their packs once more.

They’re together in their shelter, getting ready to leave. She’s perching on the edge of the small, makeshift desk Marcus managed to get his hands on and keeps shooing her off of when she sits on it.

He’s pacing. Unable to sit, forcing himself to stand and repeat tasks over and over, the routine, no doubt intended to calm him. She’s fairly sure he knows the contents of her being better than she does.

He’s still nervous about this. She can feel it. There’s a heavy tension in the air between them. She takes a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest, “Marcus-“

She begins, trying to keep her mild and mounting frustrations in check. She’s told him twice already. The details haven’t changed and neither will their decision.

“Please, Abby.” He murmurs softly before she can construct any kind of argument against retelling the entire story.

He’s still for the first time since they got up that morning, firmly facing her. She meets his eyes for the first time and softens slightly. He needs to know that he’s not leading them into a trap, needs to be sure that he’s not putting her life at risk.

She massages her temples and closes her eyes, launching into the story again.

*****

_She turns, drawing the blade in one fluid motion to face her would be attacker._

_“Who are you?” She demands coarsely, knife raised, her eyes fixed on the person who’s just stepped out into the clearing opposite her._

_She’s facing a slim woman, her dark skin broken only by a scar over one eye. Her hands are raised but her eyes are sharp and piercing and Abby tightens her grip around the knife curled between her fingers. The woman across from her lowers her hands, her eyes searching Abby for something, sizing her up._

_She doesn’t move, she’s out of her element here and she knows it. She has a feeling they both do. Either way, she’s not going to be the one to make the first play here and change the rules of the game she’s fallen in to without even knowing what it’s called._

_She tenses as the trees opposite her companion shift slightly. Two more grounders appear to flank her one of either side. She closes her eyes for a moment and lets her body relax. There’s no point in bracing for a fight she can’t hope to win when she’ll have a better chance by trying to avoid it altogether._

_She lets herself shrink back and stows Marcus’ knife in her belt then turns to see her opponent’s reaction. She doesn’t give much away. She’s good at this game. But she thinks she catches the faint flicker of surprise and something like admiration in the woman’s sharp features before they smooth impassively once more._

_“What do you want?” Abby asks, projecting as much confidence as she can into her words, her voice carrying through the quiet._

_“To know who you are.” Is the enigmatic reply she gets._

_She takes a deep breath, “Abigail.” She answers finally, “Abigail Griffin.”_

_The woman nods, “I am Indra.” She offers in return. Abby inclines her head then waits. “Who speaks for your people?” Indra asks when Abby’s silence rewards her, “Who leads you?”_

_She hesitates for a moment then decides there’s no point in lying about it._

_“I do.” She says._

_The words sound strange and strangely confident, though she’s still getting used to the idea._

_“With another.” She adds firmly._

_Indra squints at this, “You fight for the control of your people?” She asks._

_Abby can see she thinks she’s struck gold and identified a weakness in them. A civil war and a power struggle in a new and already unstable society would be all the organised army of warriors would need to tear them apart._

_“No.” She corrects firmly, eager to explain and clarify their situation before the idea takes root and spreads into something she can’t hope to contain or control. “No, there’s no power struggle. We share control. We lead together.”_

_Indra seems to accept this with a faint incline of her head to Abby’s intense relief, because she changes tact then,_

_“And together, what do you intend to do? What do your people intend to do?”_

_The question is loaded, another smaller move in a longer game and Abby wastes no time in answering it truthfully. She wants to know what the other woman wants, why she’s been approached like this and conversation is flowing now instead of blood._

_“Survive.” She says simply, “We want to survive.”_

_Indra moves as she speaks this time, coming closer but stepping off to her left, pacing in a slow circle around Abby forcing her to turn to keep her in view. Her guards follow seamlessly, as though they move and act and think as one._

_It’s a display. A demonstration. An intimidation. And a good one._

_“And does your idea of survival involve the slaughter of my people?”_

_Abby pauses. This is the crescendo her piece has been building to from the beginning. And if she handles this wrong, she’s likely to find herself becoming the first casualty in a new war._

_She shakes her head, meeting the other woman’s hard gaze as she says firmly, “No. No, we want peace with your people.”_

_“Is that why you’ve been arming your camp like a military base?” Indra demands coldly._

_She forces herself to keep calm. She and Marcus had argued about this before. His reasoning had finally won her over and she knows she’ll have to now do the same here. She’s balanced on a knife’s edge now and one wrong step will mean war for her and her people._

_“We’re not looking for a fight.” She explains urgently, “It’s just a precaution, a defence. We don’t know this world or how dangerous it can be. All I want is to keep my people safe.” She says with finality._

_Indra considers her for a long minute, “I want to believe you.” She says finally, rounding on Abby, a lull coming in her restless pacing, “But your past actions against us make me find you hard to trust.”_

_Abby protests, “We haven’t posed any kind of a threat to you.”_

_“Your group perhaps not.” Indra counters with a dismissive tone, “But the group you sent down before...”_

_Abby’s stomach contracts and her throat closes painfully making it difficult to breathe for a moment._

_The 100...Clarke._

_“I knew Anya, the leader of the tribe they fought with.” Indra says, a sharp snap in her voice, “She lost three hundred of her people; her warriors because of your people. That is the threat that you have posed. That is why I do not know if I can trust you or your word, Abigail Griffin.” She says with barely controlled fury, her eyes flashing dangerously._

_But Abby finds her own temper rising, the mention of her daughter, however slight, triggers something in her, “Then why are you here?” She asks recklessly._

_“Excuse me?” Indra begins, voice cold and sharp._

_“If you thought we were so untrustworthy, so dangerous, why did you meet with me like this. Why are we having a civil discussion about this? Why haven’t you killed me to make a statement or captured me to bargain with later? Why go to the trouble of any of this?”_

_She sees the other woman’s stance relax slightly, a faint flash of that admiration and respect shining in her eyes for a moment and, bolstered by this, Abby ploughs on._

_“You know the same as I do that we can’t keep going on like this. That either it ends or we will. Our technology, our weapons, far outmatch yours. But you know this world better than we ever will. If our two people’s can’t find a way to negotiate a peace then we’re going to destroy each other.”_

_Emboldened by the success of her words she can see in the other woman’s eyes she takes a step forwards as she concludes, swallowing hard and forcing herself to keep taking,_

_“My daughter was among the group we sent down. And now she’s dead. I lost her to the same war that you lost your people to. I don’t want to lose anyone else. And I don’t think you do either.” She finishes then waits, holding her breath, for the other woman to answer her._

_She’s laid all of her cards on the table now. This will either work or it won’t. But she’s done all she can._

_“You wish to discuss peace terms? For a truce?”_

_“Yes.” Abby says firmly, her heart daring to lift slightly._

_Indra pauses, “A truce I can give you now.” She says finally, “But we will have to negotiate further to secure a pace.”_

_A soft smile flickers across Abby’s lips at this as she feels relief flood through her._

_Though she says, “I said before, I don’t speak for my people alone. If we’re negotiating peace terms then I want my partner with me.”_

_Indra considers this for a moment then nods her consent, “Can you find this spot again?” She asks. Abby nods, “Good. We will meet you and your partner here tomorrow at noon.”_

_Abby accepts the meeting and something like hope dares to spread through her once more._

_****_

Marcus considers her story again and she can tell he’s trying to spot potential traps or problems.

“We have to do this, Marcus.” She tells him firmly, “It may be a risk but it’s one we have to take. If we can secure a peace...That changes everything.” She breathes softly.

“I know.” He says, still not entirely convincing her. “I don’t like the idea of leading you into danger.” He says finally.

She rounds on him. “I’m a big girl, Marcus.” She tells him flatly, “I can make my own decisions about this.” She says.

She understands him though. He’s a soldier at heart, truly, before anything else. Even when he was a political on the council she could feel the soldier in his soul behind every decision and every proposal he made. The man who made the hard choices because he felt he had to. And the man who suffered the consequences and the costs of those choices whatever they were to himself. Soldiers were built for war and death and darkness. That was his place. To live in that darkness and protect those that still lingered in the light. Make it so that they could still live there. Even if it meant he never would.

“And anyway.” She smirks lightly, snatching up her pack and shouldering it as she heads outside, knowing he’ll follow, “Last I checked, I was the one leading.” She gets a faint, playful smirk for her efforts.

He falls grudgingly into step beside her, glancing down at her every now and then as they walk. She’s noticed him doing that a lot recently. Checking up on her, making sure she’s still there by his side.

There’s an understanding in his eyes that she’s been missing from others. She’s gotten used to the stares that following her around camp. Eyes picking her out, focussing on her, holding her in their eyes. Waiting. Watching. Whispering about her.

She’s sick of it. It’s a relief to get out and away from it all. And for whatever reason, Marcus’ quiet, infrequent glances are almost a comfort, a reassurance. Some sort of reminder that she’s not alone down here, that he cares.

They stop in the small clearing where Abby first met Indra. They had spent the journey in quiet companionable silence, Marcus meekly following her as they picked their way through the woods. He stopped them twice, his instincts alerting him to something she had not caught on to but both times he satisfied himself that they were not in any kind of danger and they arrived without incident.

She stops and shrugs off her pack and watches him mirror her as she says, “We’re here.” 

He nods, settling himself down to wait and passing her a water bottle. She takes a drink from it then passes it back to him. It takes a few attempts before she manages to nudge it into his hands.

He’s distracted. And restless. His eyes dart around the clearing never staying in one place too long. She can see him processing their surroundings. Marking out escape routes for them placing himself protectively in front of her, shielding her, almost instinctively, from any potential danger as he identifies the likely sources of any attack.

It’s a wonder he’s not pacing.

He will be in a minute. She finds herself lay a gentle hand on his arm. That makes him stop, at last. He glances down to meet her eyes again. She finds herself flushing slightly under his gaze, almost regretting the impulsive move she made to offer him a little comfort, struggling to find something to support it with.

Finally, after a pause she says quietly, “It’ll be okay, Marcus.”

He nods tersely, but shifts as he mutters, “Maybe.” She watches him, knowing he’s not done. “We should have brought guards.” He growls eventually.

She shakes her head.

It’s an argument they’ve had already. Twice. She hasn’t changed her position on it any more than he has.

“We’re here to negotiate for peace, Marcus.” She reminds him, again. “If we’d turned up flanked by a squad of soldiers armed to the teeth it’d look like we don’t trust them.” She says fairly.

“We don’t.” He intones sharply.

She turns and watches him for almost a full minute in which he determinedly avoids her eyes before she counters simply, “We have to.”

He grimaces at that and she understands. He hates this. He hates that so much of it is out of his control. In order for this to work he has to put his trust entirely in another, relatively unknown party’s hands. And she knows that that still isn’t hitting at the heart of the problem.

His own trust and his own life aren’t the things that are making him grit his teeth and forcing his hands to clench around the grip of his rifle every few minutes. She knows he’d risk them both in a heartbeat without a thought if there was a change that it could secure peace for them.

But putting her life in their hands; the lives of their people too if they fail, if they have walked into a trap. That’s a gamble he’s far less willing to take. He can’t have any more blood on his hands. She knows that. She sees that guilt and that weight in his eyes every time she catches them.

It’s something they’ll have to talk about properly, and soon. He’s too quick to bet with his life and she needs to make him see that. But not right now. Now...

“It’s beautiful.” She murmurs quietly to him, noting him taking a little more time to actually appreciate their surroundings. He nods, almost absently at this. “I never thought we’d ever get to see anything like this.” She says softly, a quiet smile touching her lips.

“We were never supposed to.” He replies, a strange cast to his voice, as his eyes lift towards the pale blue sky, just visible through the canopy of green extending above them, “We were supposed to live and die up there.” He says evenly. “This,” he gestures around them, “Was never supposed to be ours.” He mutters, shaking his head.

She’s quiet for a long moment considering this then she says slowly, “We made a lot of mistakes on the Ark.” He tenses slightly, beside her but she goes on calmly as though she hadn’t noticed, “All of us.” She says, a slight shiver running through her at the memory of some of her own, “Maybe this is our second chance.” She breathes quietly.

“You believe that we deserve a second chance?” He asks tautly, “After some of the things we’ve done?”

She waits a moment until he meets her eyes again before she answers firmly, “I think we all deserve that, Marcus.” She murmurs softly, “Everything is changing now, Marcus. Everything _has_ changed. We’ve changed.” She says, a soft smile touches his lips and he looks down at her as she continues, “You’re not the same person you were on the Ark.”

“Is that a good thing or not?” He asks, the ghost of a smile twinkling in his eyes, “Well, you’ve stopped trying to float me every other week. That’s nice.”

He laughs at this and she smiles in mild surprise, looking up at him as he does so.

He trails off, still smiling faintly and says, with a faint, playful note in his voice, “Well you’ve stopped breaking every rule we ever made every other week. That’s nice too.”

She grins in reply to this, having the decency to flush slightly.

“We’ve changed too.” He observes quietly, “Co-leaders down here on Earth. Who saw that coming?”

She smiles broadly at this, “It works, though.” She says quietly, gesturing between them, “This works. We work.”

“We do.” He agrees quietly.

She hesitates a moment then blurts out, “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should-“ She’s interrupted as something shifts in front of them.

He’s on his feet in seconds, rifle in his hands, impulsively and automatically moving to stand in front of her. She steps around him, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on his arm to wordlessly let him know that it’s okay.

He lowers his gun at once and allows her to move in front of him, watching her as she steps forward, nodding to Indra.

Her guards remain several feet behind her however and she moves towards them alone. Abby makes the introductions and Marcus wastes no time after that in getting things underway between them.

“You want peace with us?” he asks, his voice hard, his gaze calculating.

Indra studies him for a moment before she answers, “I thought that was why we were all here.”

“It would appear so.” He replies cagily.

“This one doesn’t trust easily.” She observes, glancing towards Abby who keeps her expression neutral.

She understands what Marcus is getting at and she sides with him as she says, “For good reason.” She pauses a beat to let that sink in then, “Do you want peace with us now or do you want to discuss the potential?” She asks, putting what Marcus was saying between the lines into a blunt, simple question.

“We have some concerns that need to be addressed first.” She says finally. Abby feels Marcus shift a little closer to her at this, “But yes. We want peace.”

Abby glances towards Marcus, deciding to let him choose how to answer this, “What concerns would you like us to address?” He asks evenly, his eyes fixed on the other woman with a look Abby knows well having been on the receiving end of it sitting opposite him at a council table for years.

“I want to know what your people want, what your intentions are and why you came here.” Indra begins bluntly, she sees a flash of approval in Marcus’ eyes at the direct approach to this discussion.

“To survive.” He says succinctly and Abby smiles inwardly at the echoes of how she too had answered a similar question the day before.

Indra remains quiet in response to his pronouncement however, clearly waiting for him to expand on this, which he does, “We want to survive.” He repeats to begin with, “That’s all we want, our only intention in coming to Earth. Our people escaped the nuclear war the decimated this planet ninety-seven years ago. We lived there. We existed. We fought. We continued. We never intended to come down here; to Earth, for another hundred years.” He goes on evenly, “We had no idea it was survivable, that there were people living here.”

“Yet you sent your people down here anyway?” Indra asks sharply, “Even though you didn’t think anyone could survive down here?”

“We didn’t have a choice.” He explains, lowly beginning to weigh his words, “Our home was dying. And we, we did some things I’m not proud of, to try and keep ourselves going. We made some hard decisions, we did everything we could to keep going up there. But in the end our choices became limited to either taking a risk and trying to come to Earth, to live, or watching our people die in space.”

Indra takes her time to consider his words but she seems satisfied. It’s strange. Hearing him tell that story to someone who has no idea about any of it. Yet she seemed to understand the point Marcus had been driving to make her see.

“You did whatever you had to do for your people. To protect them. To save them.” Marcus nods and Abby joints him. “And down here, now, you will continue to do whatever you need to ensruet he survival of your people?”

The question is loaded with another intent. She knows Marcus senses it too because he takes his time in answering, “Only what we’re made to do.”

A faint, half smile flickers across Indra’s face at this but her tone is still steely and focussed when she says, “I want your word that your idea of survival doesn’t include making war on my people to cheer your paranoia. I want your word that you’re not arming your camp for war.”

“You have it.” Marcus answers smoothly and sincerely. “When we came down,” he gestures at himself and Abby, “We knew from the 100 that there were other people already here. And we didn’t know your intentions for us any better than you knew ours for you. If peace was never an option, if we had landed in the middle of a war zone I didn’t want our people to be defenceless.” He says firmly, “But that’s all it ever was or ever will be, a defence, a precaution. The last thing we want is war.” Indra nods gravely.

Indra’s concerns satisfied they move on to negotiations for a tentative alliance between their people and the Grounders.

Boundaries are the first thing to be set up and argued out. Marcus had studied the lie of the land more thoroughly than she has and for the most part she lets him settle territory disagreements. Though she adds the stipulation of wanting access to certain areas in order to collect some of the medicinal plants that grow there when they need to.

Once that’s settled they agree to keep channels open and set up further meetings to settle any other disputes between their peoples and to revise, add to and strengthen their terms if they need to. Maps and directions are provided to their respective camps as a sign of trust from both and the deal struck and sealed.

She’s pleased, but still not done yet, there’s still one thing on her mind.

“You were aware of the 100?” She says quietly, “We’ve been open and honest with you. I’d like the same in return.” She says firmly.

Indra nods, “What do you want to know?”

“What happened.”  Abby says, trying to keep her voice steady and the desperation from creeping into it as she speaks.

“They brought war upon themselves and an army to their gates.” Indra says flatly, “I don’t have the details you’re looking for. None of our people returned to tell us what happened.”

“Wait-“ Abby interrupts, starting forwards, “Are you saying that they won? The 100 won the battle?”

“Yes.” Indra answers firmly.

Abby finds herself reeling. Everything she thought she had known, everything she thought she had understood stripped away from her.

Marcus picks up the thread that she can’t, “The kids were gone when we got there. We thought they were dead.” He says sharply. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Indra replies, shaking her head.

“A hundred kids don’t just vanish into thin air.” Abby snarls, feeling her temper fraying, “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Indra repeats firmly.

She feels Marcus’ hand, half warning, half comforting, on her arm and knows that they’re done here.

They turn and head back to camp, her head bursting with too many thoughts.

“She’s lying about something.” Marcus says quietly once they’ve gotten a good distance from the clearing.

Abby nodes tersely, “She’s hiding something.” She agrees fervently, “Do you think she’ll keep her word about the peace accord?”

Marcus considers this carefully then nods firmly, “That’s still in her best interest to do that.” He says, “I think she knows, or she can at least guess what’s happened to the 100 though. She’s choosing not to tells us.”

“Why?” Abby muses, “Why go so far but not give us answers. Unless you think that she was lying about all of it?” She ventures impulsively.

He shakes his head, “Why would she?”

It deflects suspicion, she says, “It makes us more disposed to trust her. If she tells us that the kids wiped out their army but that they’re missing. Obvious answer is there’s someone else down here that we should focus on. Or get distracted by.”

Marcus thinks on this for a moment, then, “But what she said tallies with what we found at the camp. The theory that the 100 set off a bomb and killed the Grounder army and survived.”

He pauses considering something then muses, “It’s possible she was trying to warn us of someone else. Another group she doesn’t want to be the one to have named.”

They debate potential explanation until they reach the brow of the hill and catch sight of their camp. He pauses, “You go on, tell them the good news.”

She smiles, “You don’t want to share the glory?” He shakes his head.

“Besides, I remember putting you in charge of public announcements.” She smiles at this before he adds, “And I need some air. Some time alone to think.”

She nods. She’d expected this. He’s taken more advantage of the vast potentials for some space and personal time than anyone else. She turns to leave but he stops her, pressing his rifle on her and glaring at her when she opens her mouth to protest, warning her not to argue.

She heads back towards the faint lights of camp, leaving him to the deepening blackness as night begins to grow around them, swallowing the last of the day’s light.

He watches her back into camp until he can’t see her and trusts that she’s been enveloped by the protective ring of light surrounding their new home.

He settles himself in the grass, eyes closed, letting the cool air wash gently over him. He’s pleased by what they’ve achieved today.

 Peace. They could all use a little more peace. But he especially craves it. So much of his time on the Ark had begun to feel like war. They had to fight and sacrifice and suffer every day just to survive. They had to make impossible decisions to try and ensure that at least some of them made it.

Though he had not _had_ to. Not really. He could have listened to Abby, listened to her heart, to her hope. And then three hundred and twenty more of them might have made it here to Earth.

He feels his shoulders slump slightly, the memory and the guilt weighing on his body as though stones had been tied to his limbs and molten lead had flooded his veins.

It troubles his thoughts more and more recently and is the cause of most of his sleepless nights. Abby wants him to move on. To forget. To forgive himself. Because their people need him. He’s trying to believe her. They’ve done well today. She’s right. A lot has changed. And today they made peace. Today he chose hope.

The 100 managed to entangle themselves in a war. They killed hundreds of the Grounders. And suffered casualties in return. Families torn apart and wounds opened that may never have healed. They closed them today as best they could.

Because neither side could survive any more loss. And he could not survive the thought of more innocent blood on his hand, more souls on his conscience.

But they had taken a step in the right direction today. They knew this had to end. They knew they couldn’t survive this. They knew it had to stop. And perhaps it would. Here and today.

Peace talks. That Abby had set up on the back of an almost chance encounter. Something he would never have trusted before. But he had come to trust her. And he had trusted her on this, trusted her instincts and her gut and her judgement. And peace talks that he could have altogether too easily written off as a trap or a lure and now they had a chance, a real chance.

She was right. This worked.

His thoughts drift slowly to Abby and he decides she’ll have finished her announcement by now. She may be more delicate than he is but she’s not long-winded by any stretch of the imagination. He gets to his feet and starts to descent back towards camp.

The darkness around him is absolute now, so complete he can almost feel a tension in it. He takes a deep breath, catching something flickering across her vision. That causes him to pause for a moment, glancing around him.

Silver flashing like lightning through the still air and a razor sharp blade slides between his ribs.

White hot pain burns through him, disorientating him further.

 He chokes.

Hot blood seeps from his skin.

Someone pulls him in close, taking the opportunity to plunge the knife into his body again.

A rough, harsh voice snarls in his ear. “Did you think we could ever forgive what you did to our people?”

He feels the knife pulled from him, the pain startling and unbearable.

“Our families....Everything we had.”

The blade finds its way into him once more. And if any other words are said to him to explain this he doesn’t hear them.

Pain floods his entire system.

One thought. One faint, desperate thought fights its way through the haze of agony that rips through him.

He let her go home alone. He wasn’t there. Couldn’t protect her. His fault. If she’s been hurt too...His fault.

The harsh grip pressing him against his attacker is abruptly removed and he collapses, strings cut.

Footsteps. Running. Running away. Leaving him. Leaving him here to die. Alone. And in the dark.

Every breath sends agony sparking through him. He can’t breathe. He can’t hear. He can’t see. He can only feel. He can only feel pain and fear as death stalks towards him in the dark.

His vision flickers. The world is drained away. In an instant. And he’s falling away to nothingness. Swallowed helplessly into oblivion.

And silence surrounds the tragedy as he dies alone and unknown and helpless. And he’s no longer aware of anything.

Blood seeps from him in dull pulses, sinking into the dry, hungry ground beneath him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this, guys. I know I've been a little inconsistent of late with updates, uni's gone crazy, but I definitely haven't dropped this fic and will be updating it whenever I can, I promise. In the meantime, feedback helps a lot with the writing process ;)


	8. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I've updated this, I've been struggling with writer's block like you wouldn't believe and I had exams to contend with before that as well. I am going to make every effort to get these updates more consistent from here on out though. And if you haven't given up on this fic I thank you for coming back to it.

** Chapter 8 **

She watches as the crowd around her disperses, murmuring among themselves about the news she’s just given them.

She begins to wonder if she was too hard on Marcus and his speech-making capabilities the other day; hers don’t seem to be much better. She’d have been infinitely more comfortable back in her OR with a scalpel in her hand.

At least there was something to react to there, some sort of guide, some sort of visible, tangible progress or set-back that she could address. Pressure and problems, demanding her attention, forcing her into action, into making decisions, into _doing_ something.

Nothing killed her confidence or her capability so much s the dull expectation of a silent crowd.

Maybe that was strange. How easy she found it to literally have another human being’s life in her hands, to be able to kill them or save them as she wanted. She had the power of life and death in her OR. She could bring about happiness or heartbreak on a whim.

She found that easy, but she couldn’t make a simple announcement. Perhaps she was just used to her surgery, her small scale life and death as it were. The details were easier to focus on than considering the bigger picture as she had to do now. Or maybe this was so hard because somewhere in the back of her head she knew that she, with Marcus, now held the fates of every one of those people that had been before her in her hands.

She gives herself a little shake and tries to refocus herself on something else; a distraction from the thing that’s bothering her. She turns her attention to something else that’s been niggling away at her in the back of her mind for a little while now; Marcus.

She had been expecting to catch his eye on the edges of the group as she’d addressed them; sure he’d have come slinking back into camp almost unnoticed, a habit he had picked up that had made her jump more than a few times before she’d gotten used to it, once it was clear that she had spared him the task of speech-making.

She’d been certain he’d want to assess the reaction of their people to their news first-hand himself so they could then discuss their next move.

He’d been conspicuous only by his absence however. She scans the crowd properly now, giving it her full attention, thinking he’ll be easy to spot among the masses, identifiable as the only person moving towards her as opposed to away like everyone else.

The camp has almost completely cleared before she forces herself to accept the simple fact that he isn’t here. But that doesn’t make sense. He should be here, with her, he should be back by her side. He’s breaking his own curfew for one thing...

Something’s wrong.

She can feel it, some strange old instinct twists in her gut. The kind she’s learned to trust; the kind that’s saved lives by leading her to follow a seemingly baseless hunch. She follows it now and tries to stop the panic that’s fluttering at the edges of her steadily fraying nerves.

She catches Jackson who seems to spring to attention at her touch and notes the faint pangs of worry she had been sure she’d been hiding so well almost at once.

“What’s up?” He asks, stopping and turning to look at her properly, concern wrinkling his brow.

“Have you seen Kane?” She asks tersely.

This question seems to throw him slightly, clearly not what he’d been expecting from her. But he rallies quickly enough to answer it.

“No, I thought he came back with you?” He says, eyebrows raised slightly.

She shakes her head brusquely, not looking at him, worrying at her bottom lip as she ponders this.

“You don’t think something’s happened to him?” Jackson asks, sounding doubtful at best; sceptical at worst.

“I don’t know what I think, Jackson.” She murmurs tensely, looking around them, grim doubt settling firmly in the pit of her stomach, slowly fermenting into anxiety with every second she wastes in uncertainty.

She turns away from him and instead strides purposefully towards their tent, some kind of possessive blind hope fuelling her without warning. It’s empty. And that stalls her with the efficiency of a solid brick wall. Even though she knows she should never have expected anything else.

A shock of frustration hits her in that moment with a ferocity that seems disproportionate to the situation but he’s gone, he’s gone and she doesn’t know why and she needs to. She knows something has happened, she knows it and everyone else seems calm and unconcerned, they haven’t noticed, they don’t care but she knows.

Letting out a rough snarl of fury to try and relieve some of the emotion burning through her and clouding any rational thought she’d had before. She manages to level herself a moment later after taking several deep, slow breaths and allowing herself to actually properly assess the situation when she then catches sight of a radio left pointedly on her bed.

Marcus had been badgering her with days to use the radio and to take it with her when she left camp or if she was out of his sight for more than a few hours so he wouldn’t worry her. He’d taken to very deliberately placing it on her bed or on her desk in medical where she couldn’t fail to miss it. She had scoffed at him before and insisted to herself that he had been overreacting but now she could have kissed him from it. He would certainly have his radio on him, all she had to do was signal to him, just hearing his voice would settle everything now she was sure, faint and crackly across the poorly tuned radios or not, just hearing him say he was alright was all she needed in this moment.

She snatches it up and irritably fiddles with the temperamental dials until she finally finds the right frequency, which seems to take decades, “Marcus?” She demands of it.

She lifts her finger, waiting for his reply, needing his reply, waiting for his voice, for the flood of relief to course through her system at the sound of it. She waits. And waits. Her frantic heartbeat counting out the seconds that pass as it pounds against her ribs so violently she wonders why it doesn’t hurt.

“Marcus are you there?” She tries again.

Fear trickles through her like ice water, spreading through her like a creeping poison. But despite that, she feels strangely calm now. She _knows_ now; knows rather than suspects. Because if he was in a position to reach his radio he would have answered her, she has no doubts about that.

Uncertainty cripples her. It drives her to desperation. To find a answer, to find an end, an explanation, something final, something tangible, something that she can process and handle and combat. There’s nothing she can do with doubt. But she knows now. She knows now that something is wrong. And now she can do something about it.

Instinct drives her and she lets it. Lets it fill her, lets it take control of her automatic actions because that then lets her take control of everything.

The radio is quickly replaced in her hand by a torch and a med kit is slung over her back not long after. She signals two guards as she leaves the tent and they fall into step behind her as she marches purposefully out of the gates, not taking a moment to pause and consider if this is a good idea or not.

She retraces her steps back towards the place she had left him with ease. Darkness has properly descended over them now and the lights cast from the torches encircling their camp soon cease to be of any use to her. She’s flying blind with nothing but her memory and instinct to guide her to him.

Still, she’s done a lot more with a lot less to go on before. She’ll find him. She _has_ to find him.

Something stops her from calling out to him forever. The same something that’s making her skin prickle and crawl that has nothing to do with the light yet insistent breeze that’s picked up around her.

She moves slowly, cautiously, with that feeling of unease still twisting in her gut; that certainty that something is wrong, the mounting tension it inspires in her with every step she takes as though each one might be her last.

She sees a deeper darkness and a lurking danger in every shadow and she’s sure that every second that drips by is another note that’s building in a crescendo towards a deafening, terrifying peak.

Her breath catches sharp as nails in her throat when the thin beam of her torch in her hand lights suddenly upon his.

“Marcus.” She whispers urgently, darting forwards without pausing to consider the potential danger the darkness around him may have swallowed the moment he fails to respond to her.

Her heart does a little more than catch in her chest when she draws near enough to see the blood staining the grass around him and soaking his clothes. Red. So much red everywhere, too much. It’ll be a miracle if he’s still alive-

She stops then, refuses to let herself so much as contemplate that idea.

Sinking to her knees beside him she gropes desperately at his neck for a pulse. It takes her too long to find it to the point where she’s panicking when she finally does. Faint and thread but there, unmistakably, unequivocally there.

Instinct begins to thrum through her system them, along with a healthy dose of adrenaline that floods through her veins a moment later and any thought of panic is pushed firmly to the back of her mind as she springs into reflexive action.

She turns on the two guards behind her, “Go back to camp, bring me help.” She orders curtly.

“But ma’am-“ One begins, both clearly reluctant to leave her vulnerable and in potential danger now.

But she doesn’t have time for that and every second they waste only increases the chances of losing Marcus and that is not an option that’s even remotely open to her right now, whatever she has to do to avoid it.

“Now.” She snarls, her voice rising in a tone that brokers no arguments.

They both turn and head back to camp at a run, leaving her alone with her patient...With Marcus. Though she tries to push that thought, that attachment from her mind. The last thing she needs the last thing _he_ needs is personal feelings clouding her judgement right now.

“Marcus.” She breathes as clearly as she can while trying to stop her voice from shaking, “Marcus can you hear me?” She asks, the edge of desperation in her voice palpable.

She closes her eyes tightly, attempting to ground herself, to refocus, to draw on her training, her instincts once more.  Because she couldn’t lose him, she had to save him, she _had_ to.

She snatches up her torch again from where she’d dropped it as she ran to him and holds it in her mouth to leave her hands free to work. The beam wavers and trembles even as she does and she snarls incoherently in frustration with herself.

She makes herself stop for a moment and takes a few deep breaths, pulling herself together again. When she opens her eyes again she’s calm at last and she’s ready  because the alternative is her going to pieces right now and letting him die and she’ll be damned if she lets that happen.

Leaning down she unceremoniously tears open his shirt to give her a clearer picture of what she’s facing. The sodden fabric splits easily at her encouragement but for a moment she wonders what good it’s done her.

All she can see is red, bright shocking crimson everywhere she looks. The contrast between the burning scarlet and his now chalk white skin is thrown into even starker and worse relief by her torch.

Her breath catches in her chest. She forces herself to see past it, willing her practical eyes to pick out the source among the chaos, a skill she’s particularly adept at in her speciality of surgery. Failure to find the flaw in the system of her patient almost always comes down to life and death for her. Finally, she finds them, three wounds in his chest and abdomen.

Her fingers provide her with the details her eyes can’t discern. The cuts aren’t too long or too wide but they’re deep. They were the result of a knife being plunged viciously into him over and over again. Her stomach contracts in fear and in fury at this discovery.

She glances back towards camp. The path is empty, devoid of help. She’s on her own for now. She curses silently, willing them to hurry up before she turns her attention fully back to him. She tears into the med kit she had snatched up with her own instinct before she left camp and opens it. His blood on her hands stains the sterile covers on the bandages. She splits them open then proceeds to carefully pack his wounds in an attempt to contain the damage that’s been done.

It’s the best she can do up here alone and in the dark, without any proper equipment. She then binds the wounds as tightly as she can in a further attempt to keep pressure on them and prevent him from losing any more blood.

Then she stops. There’s nothing more she can do. She’s stalled and fear begins to blend through her veins again, taking hold once more, making her shake violently though the air around her is still relatively mild. Panic sets in again and she begins to choke on the air around her as though it’s become water, drowning her.

On some wild instinct, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. It helps her somehow and an almost hysterical laugh bubbles up from her chest at the twisted terrifying irony of the dying man’s grip steadying the woman who’s the only one who can save his life.

She glances back desperately towards the camp, fury and frustration ripping along her already shattered nerves. She despises this, this stagnation, this helplessness, being utterly unable to do anything for him. And all the while his life hangs in the balance, he’s lying there bleeding, dying and there’s nothing she can do about it. Not a damn thing but kneel by his side in the grass and clutch his hand and hope and beg and forbid him from leaving, force him to hold on until she can save him. And she will. She has to.

A rough tremor runs through her, her eyes snapping shut, emotion welling inside her to the point she can barely stand to contain it, sure it’s going to tear her apart. She wants to scream. To make them hurry up and reach him, to make whoever had hurt him feel her pain and her rage, or even just to relieve some of the intense, drowning pounding pressure building up in her body right now.

She’s about to get up, try and signal to the camp somehow, no matter the good it’ll do, just to feed like she’s actually _doing_ something other than just sitting here watching him die, when he shudders at her side.

Her attention snaps back to him, her hand gripping onto his so tightly she’s losing feeling in her fingers. She watches him, terror flaring through her in surges, seeming to short-circuit every part of her. She can’t move. She can’t think. She can’t _breathe._

“Abby.” He whispers, his voice so faint and strained that had they not been alone and had it not been so quiet she might have missed it. But she hears and the way relief floods her she might have just heard him call her name as they reunited after weeks of uncertainty rather than simply a few unbearably long minutes.

Her throat so tight she’s sure something will snap as she manages to choke out, “Marcus?” His fingers flex weakly around hers and that seems to ground and stabilise her, “Marcus can you hear me?” She asks, her voice as calm and clear as she can make it through the fear that continues to lap at her even now.

His breathing is shallow and laboured, his eyes still closed as his lips faintly frame around her name once again, “Abby.”

It’s more of a prayer than an answer to her question. 

She places a hand on his forehead, trying to calm him as he begins to shiver and shake hoarsely, helplessly whispering her name again, “I’m here.” She soothes softly, wishing she could do more for him, “I’m right here, Marcus.” She breathes tenderly. “You’re going to be alright.” She says fiercely, the words as much an oath to herself as a promise to him, trying to keep him as settled as she can, gripping on to his hand as tightly as she can.

“Marcus?” She murmurs uncertainly, her voice catching as he stills under her touch again, exhaustion claiming him and taking him from her again and with him the little bit of fierce courage and composure she’d managed to summon for his sake evaporates as well.

“Marcus, no.” She chokes, her voice breaking violently on the last word, “Marcus, no, no stay with me, stay with me, please.” She croaks, the ‘please’ she couldn’t help tumbling out changing her firm order to a desperate plea but she’s beyond the point of caring about that now.

“Come on.” She says , her voice rising in tandem with her panic, “Come on, come on, come back.” She gasps, her voice so cracked now even she can barely understand the words, “Come back, don’t do this to me.” She says, a bit of anger and frustration strengthening her now, “Don’t do this to me, Marcus.” She breathes, her voice dying to barely more than a whisper once more, “You can’t do this to me now, Marcus, you can’t.” She croaks, “You can’t, you can’t. Come on!” She snarls, “Marcus!”

“Chancellor!” She forces herself to turn away from him, anguished at the sound of her name shouted as the guards finally return to her.

“About time.” She snaps, her voice thick with emotion, her frustration more with herself than with them but she had to do something to relieve the tension locking her body in a tense hold.

She supervises them transferring him onto a stretcher, making sure they don’t make his injuries any worse in the process. She gives his hand a final squeeze as she issues instructions to the men carrying him; the touch of his hand her final silent request to him to hold on, just a little longer and she would help him; she would put this right.

Then she turned and ran ahead of them, back to camp to set up and prepare herself for his surgery.

It helps. Running back to camp. Her feet pounding against the solid earth beneath her. Her mind begins to clear somewhat, set coherent thoughts are able to form in her head again. She has a purpose again, something she can do, something to help, something that makes her feel useful again. It enables her to think straight; to process what’s happened and figure out a clear cut way to approach things now.

She hurtles into medical a few minutes later, out of breath and wheezing slightly but determined all the same. Jackson hurries to her side as she begins setting up.

“I heard when the guards came back.” He says looking a little shakier than usual, “How is he?”

“Bad.” She answers shortly, her nerves too frayed to find any more gentle and eloquent way of answering his question.  

“I need a trauma kit, as much saline as you can find, any painkillers you can get your hands on, whatever size catgut we have left and something to sterilise this place before they get here.”

It feels good to have a grounding, a routine, something that centres her. It’s good to feel in control again, to set Jackson to work and know she could count on him to do as she’d asked. It calmed her that little bit more. This was her comfort zone. This was her element. This was where she felt safe and secure. Though a small part of her couldn’t help muttering in the back of her mind that she’d rather be making a hundred more speeches in front of a flat, faceless, disinterested crowd than be performing the surgery she was now faced with; surgery to save the life of her friend.

She goes into one of the back sections of the medical area. This part is always quiet and peaceful, the walls are thicker here and as most of the equipment stored is for her use in surgery, it rarely attracts the attention of anyone else and it’s somewhere she can trust to swallow her for a few hours and give her some time alone to think. It’s strangely soothing for that reason.

She takes her time picking out her gown, trying to let herself relax into the routine. She peels open the sterile packaging around one of the surgical gowns, laying it out on the small table in front of her in preparation for putting it on. She likes this part, she always has. The idea that the gowning process takes her out of the routine of her day-to-day life, where she’s a mother and a citizen and a Chancellor. Here she’s only a doctor, only a surgeon and that reminds of her of that fact. Clean, and crisp, and professional.

Her personal feelings washed away with the surgical scrub that she moves over to apply once she’s finished fastening the ties on her gown. She lets the tap run while she rubs the yellow liquid up and down her arms, between her fingers, coating her hands in it. It always leaves them soft afterwards, scrapes away the harshness left by her day, peels away another slight layer of her skin it seems, leaves her fresh. If only everything were so easy to wash away from her.

She watches as she rinses her hands and the scrub disappears down the drain, leaving her skin tingling slightly. She closes her eyes a moment, resisting the urge to brace herself over the sink for support, knowing it’ll mean rewashing her hands, something she doesn’t have time for yet. She forces steel into her spine then turns and faces what’s to come.

There’s still too much emotion in her. Too much Abby, too much of the part of her that’s become so attached to him recently, that cares for him, that needs him to get through this. Not enough of the Dr Griffin she knows she needs to be right now to save his life. And it’s so hard to let go of it, to let go of it all. And she’s usually so good at it. So practiced, so adept, so able to separate herself out, to distance herself, to have nothing connecting her to her patient but her skill and her scalpel but this, this feels different, _he_ is different. He’s all she’s had these last few weeks. What would she do without him? What would she do if he died on her table today?

She gives herself a little shake, trying to push all of this away. Her mentor had taught her years before on the Ark when she’d been training that personal feelings in the OR were just as likely to kill her patient as shaking hands or a dirty blade.

But how, how is she supposed to separate herself from this now? The Ark had such a small community that chances were she would know her patient but not like this; never like this. It was never someone like Marcus, never someone she knew so intimately, never someone she had been through so much with, not like this.

Everything was already so twisted and confused when it came to her feelings for the man who was soon to be on her table. How could she just put them all aside now? Just like that? Suddenly feel nothing for him at all? With his life cradled in her hands that, for all their experience and for all of the calming familiarity of her OR that she had been counting on, for all the settling nature of her routine and the soothing breathing exercises she’d used to perfect effect for years, were still shaking.

_You just have to._ She growls firmly to herself. _He needs you to. So pull yourself together. Or he’s dead._

She heads back through into the main bay. Jackson’s already laid out and done everything she had asked him to and is in the midst of scrubbing himself in when she enters. She moves to stand beside her table, examining the tools laid out before her. She picks through them, familiarising herself with the order she knows in her sleep but it’s another habit; another ritual of hers that she adheres to now while she can.

She glances over her table again and removes the gloves from it. She understands Jackson being driven by force of habit and forgetting her own personal preferences in the moment; it’s been the only thing driving her since she stepped in here.

She’s never been fond of using gloves in her surgeries. Thin though they may be they always just seemed to her as another barrier between herself and her patient. Her fingers are more sensitive without them too and she prefers to rely more on touch sometimes than on pure sight.

Chaos suddenly erupts before her to disrupt her placid, settling thoughts of routine. The plastic flaps in front of her are pushed roughly aside as the guards bring Marcus to them. Jackson helps them guide him onto her table then she orders them out and asks them to keep his condition to themselves.

While her main focus is on him; her patient, she knows that having rumours spreading like wildfire, as they’re want to do in this environment, through the camp that one of their chancellors is currently bleeding out in medical while the other races to save his life, isn’t something else she needs to have to deal with on top of everything else that’s landed on her doorstep today.

Jackson has already taken a pair of scissors and cut away what remains of Marcus’ torn shirt and proceeds to remove the makeshift bandages she had strapped around him earlier as well so she has a clear view of what she’s facing.

It’s nothing pretty. Jackson lets out an involuntary hiss of shock and dismay at the sight of his wounds. Even she has to admit to herself that it looks worse than what she’d been anticipating and remembering from when she’d checked him over earlier.

Under the harsh work lights above them the wounds look longer, deeper and far more fatal than they had beneath her small torch beam.

For a moment she wonders if she might be fighting a lost battle. Then she swallows and steels her herself, forcing a calm she doesn’t really believe to settle over her.

“Okay.” She says in a rallying tone, “Remove the packing in the wounds then flush them with saline, get rid of as much blood as you can, let me see what I’m doing, alright?” Jackson nods in affirmative and she leaves him to it.

She turns back to her tray of tools and peels open the wrappings on one of the scalpel blades herself. A nurse would usually have attended to all of this for her but there’s no time to start considering what she’d like to have down here, all she has is what she’s got and it’s damn well going to have to be enough.  On the Ark she’d have had a small team scrub in with her for this type of surgery. Down here all she has is Jackson and his hands are full as it is. They’ll have to be enough. They’re ones she trusts at least.

She fits the blade to the handle then turns back and is caught and struck almost dumb by the fact that Jackson hasn’t moved to follow any of the instructions she’d given him.

He’s standing stock still, staring at her looking blank and drawn as though trapped in a moment in time, unable to escape for whatever reason, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from her face, something strange welling in his eyes that she has no time to try and place now.

“Jackson.” She snaps, her voice loud and sharp and urgent, trying to pull him back into the present with her.

It’s been years since he’d frozen in the middle of a surgery with her and not since he’d been training had he frozen this badly. She knows this is more personal for him, for both of them, but they don’t have the luxury of letting that get in the way right now and Marcus doesn’t have the luxury of time to waste and make allowances for this either.

“Saline.” She says, her voice crisp and clear, attempting to jolt him back into action, hoping firm, set instructions will help to ground him, give him something to focus on, “Flush his wounds. Now.”

Jackson’s eyes flick towards Marcus and then fix on her once more and even though it happens in seconds it seems to take an age; an age they don’t have.

“Abby, I, he-“ He stammers helplessly, staring at her blankly, looking utterly lost now.

“What?” She snarls, her patience snapping as she strides forwards, having no idea what could be so impactful that they’re having to stop everything in the middle of an emergency surgery.

Jackson slowly moves his fingers away from the side of Marcus’ neck and he moves round to her side of the table before he finally answers her, his voice weak and shaky but clearly audible in the silence of the room,

“His heart’s stopped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments as always are very welcome and definitely encouraged!

**Author's Note:**

> I will try an update this as regularly as I can, I've got a few chapters written up already so consistent updates for at least another 3-4 chapters and then we shall see. Feedback would be very much appreciated since I've struggled a little bit writing the balance between the two of them. And of course thank you for reading!


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